Johnlock A Study Into The Heart
by Sabrina Sparrow
Summary: Basically, through the powers of fanfiction, tumblr, and deviantart, I have been turned into a Johnlock shipper. This is a story of how Sherlock and John discover their feelings for each other. Cutesy and fluffy moments will ensue. Rated M because as the story continues, their relationship will escalate, e.g. there will be scenes of a sexual nature - you have been warned! Enjoy!
1. Another Nightmare

**Hello, Sabrina Sparrow here, with another story - something un-Valduggery for a change - for you all to read and hopefully enjoy :)**

**Basically, through the powers of fanfiction, tumblr, and deviantart, I have been turned into a Johnlock shipper. This is a story of how Sherlock and John discover their feelings for each other. Cutesy and fluffy moments will ensue. Rated M because as the story continues, their relationship will escalate, e.g. there will be scenes of a sexual nature - you have been warned!**

**STAY AWAY YOUNGLINGS!**

**Enjoy!**

Sherlock woke instantly upon the moment he heard John scream. Already a handful of possible suggestions were running through his mind.

_Intruder. Falling out of bed. Getting out of bed and standing on something sharp. A lewd dream–_

Sherlock stopped himself.

_Or a _bad_ dream..._

Sighing, Sherlock got up. He went to his bedroom door, but paused. Looking down at his bare body he realised he should probably put on some underwear first. He pulled on a pair of black boxers and made his way out onto the landing. He traded his usual elegant stride for a clumsy lumber as he reached John's door.

He rapped his knuckles against the wood. "John? Why are you screaming? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Go away, Sherlock!" John shouted harshly from the other side, although his voice broke on the last word.

"You were screaming, clearly something's the matter."

"What do you care?"

Sherlock frowned. "How am I supposed to sleep with all the screaming going on?"

"Just leave me alone!"

"I'm coming in."

"_What_? NO!"

Sherlock sighed. "You know that telling me to not do something just makes me want to do it more."

"Don't you dare come in!"

But Sherlock was already making his way into John's bedroom. He saw the blonde man sitting upright in bed, his face turned away from the Detective.

_Trembling. Sweating. Clenched fists. Avoiding eye contact .Rapid breathing. Heavy chest rise and fall._ Sherlock nodded. _A bad dream._

"I told you not to come in."

_Shaky voice._ "Whoops."

"Could you leave now please?"

Sherlock softened his voice a little. "Was it another nightmare?"

"I..." John's voice hitched in his throat. "I don't want to talk about it."

Sherlock walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, opposite the doctor. "John, look at me."

John was looking anywhere but at Sherlock. "No."

"John..."

"I said _no_, Sherlock."

"Please?"

John sighed and turned his head so he was facing the other man, but still didn't give him any eye contact, however Sherlock could still see the teary streaks staining his skin.

_Tears. Still avoiding eye contact. Biting his lip to stop it from quivering..._

Sherlock tried to be patient, but it was past three in the morning, and John was quite clearly upset and Sherlock knew, grudgingly, that he wouldn't be able to go back to bed until his friend's eyes were dry again.

Sherlock reached out and put his hands under John's square jaw and tilted his head upwards so he was forced to look at him. His eyes were red raw from crying, and he seemed to be ashamed to let Sherlock see.

"Tell me about it." Sherlock said gently. "Tell me what happened."

"You'll laugh at me." John mumbled. "I'm just being stupid."

"John, I won't laugh. I'd never do that." Subconsciously he ran his thumb over the other man's jaw line. "Please talk to me."

John hesitated before speaking. "It was a memory. I was back there. Back in the war. It was horrible. One of my oldest friends was there and he had gotten shot. They brought him to me but... but I couldn't save him. I didn't know what to do. I was too scared and I panicked and he died because of me." His voiced cracked. "I let my friend die."

John covered his face with his hands and turned away from Sherlock as he broke down into huge sobs. Sherlock pulled away as if John had stung him. He looked at the crying man before him, the one who was usually so level-headed and strong for the both of them, and he bit his lip hesitantly. He really had no idea what to do.

"John..." He began. "Please... don't..." _Reach out to him_, something in Sherlock's mind told him. He placed his hand on John's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Please don't... cry."

"Please leave." John mumbled through his hands. "I don't want you to see me like this. It's pathetic."

"No it's not. Everyone gets upset sometimes – everybody cries."

"_You_ never cry."

"I haven't got anything to cry about."

"Therefore you can't sympathise with me."

"I can try."

John sighed. "Please, Sherlock, please just leave."

The Detective frowned. "I hardly think I'm going to leave you when you're like this."

"I don't need pity."

"No, but you need a friend."

John said nothing, he just shrugged Sherlock's hand off his shoulder.

Sherlock's frown deepened. "Hey, don't do that. Don't shut me out."

"Why not?" John muttered. "You do it to me all the time."

"That's because on me it _works_. Dammit, John, I am trying to comfort you, and you are going to like it!"

Sherlock shuffled closer to him on the bed and grasped his shoulders firmly, pulling him into an awkward hug.

"_Sherlock_!" John hissed.

"This is for your own good."

"Get off me!"

"Never!"

John kept fighting him for a few more moments before sighing heavily and melting into the slender man's frame. Sherlock was now able to wrap his arms abound John properly and pull him into a tight embrace. He was suddenly aware of the trembles that were wracking their way through the smaller man's body, and the way his shirt was becoming damp where John's face was buried into his shoulder.

"Shh." Sherlock soothed, pulling him in impossibly closer, rubbing his back in soothing motions. "It'll be alright."

"I hate myself for not saving him. You have no idea how much I hate myself for it."

"You were scared. You're only human. We all make mistakes sometimes."

"But my mistake cost a man his life."

"No one would blame you for it."

"His family would."

"They're a little biased though, wouldn't you say?" Sherlock pulled away slightly so that he could look John straight in the eye. "Listen to me, John. What happened wasn't your fault. Bad things happen and there's nothing you can do about it, but the best thing that you can do now is to move on. If I dwelled over every mistake I ever made, I'd probably have hung myself by now. So just give yourself a break okay? You're the greatest man I know, and you don't deserve to beat yourself up like this." He brushed away John's tears with his thumbs, running them lightly over his cheekbones. "It's going to be okay."

John sniffled and nodded. "Okay." He paused. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" The dark-haired man said, running his hands affectionately through John's blonde hair.

"Please don't leave me. I don't think I can be here alone tonight."

Sherlock smiled tenderly. "Of course I'll stay. I'll keep the nightmares away."

**I hope you liked it, I'll update a.s.a.p. :)**

**xoxo**


	2. The Morning After

**A chapter update for you all :)**

John woke with a yawn and a stretch. His fingers reached out into the sheets, but found no purchase. His eyelids fluttered open and he saw the empty space beside him. Something in his chest clenched painfully but he let it go. Sherlock had abandoned him. Well was he surprised? Sherlock was always doing things like this. He was frequently kind then suddenly cruel. He would show his softer side then abruptly withdraw. John had fallen asleep with his head on Sherlock's chest last night with the slender man's arms wrapped protectively around him. To be honest, John really wasn't at all shocked to find that he was on his own this morning.

Signing, John got up and put on his robe over his pyjamas. He made his way to the living room, passing Sherlock who was playing his violin.

"Morning, Sherlock." John said evenly, despite the anger that was slowly bubbling up inside him.

Sherlock ignored him. Sherlock _always_ ignored him. John sighed, shaking his head and made his way to the kitchen. He made himself a cup of coffee and some toast. He ate in silence, his eyes flickering up to look at Sherlock every few seconds, becoming ever more annoyed when the other man was still facing away from him, playing that damned violin.

After a few minutes, John growled in annoyance and slammed his coffee mug down on the counter. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock ceased playing but didn't turn around. "What?"

"Are we not even going to talk about it?"

"Talk about _what_?"

"Um, I don't know, perhaps about the fact that you stayed over in my _bed_ with me last night."

Sherlock frowned, although John couldn't see it. "Why would that require talking about? It's not like anything happened – thank _God_. That would be weird."

John opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it.

Sherlock sighed. "Say it, John. Say whatever you have to say but don't want to. Rant. Get it off your chest. _Purge_."

John spoke between gritted teeth. "But something _did_ happen."

"It did?"

"We..." John paused, suddenly feeling unsure of himself. "We... cuddled. And you... you fell asleep holding me..."

Sherlock snorted. "And?"

"And then I woke up and you were gone!"

Sherlock finally turned around to look at John. "Problem?"

John looked at him incredulously. "Well... yeah a little!"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, scornfully. "Well then by all means, John, do go on."

John stammered, unable to think of what to say next. "Well I... I mean, I... and you..." He paused, grinding his teeth together. "Why did you even come into my room last night?"

"You were snivelling so loudly you could have woken the whole street up. How else was I supposed to shut you up?"

John stared at the taller man, mouth open in shock. "Sherlock, that is completely unfair. How could you even say that to me?"

"Oh for God's sake, say _what_?"

"What you just said! You know I suffer from nightmares because of Afghanistan. How could you be so downright bloody _insensitive?_"

Sherlock turned away from John and started to play his violin again. "That's the difference between you and I, John. I don't let my heart rule my head."

"That's because you don't have a heart."

"Insignificant."

"You know what, Sherlock."John said getting up. "Whatever. I don't care anymore. Just don't come into my room anymore at night unless you're going to be there when I wake up."

Sherlock stopped playing and looked sharply at him. "Why are you getting so worked up over this?"

"Because you're supposed to be my friend, Sherlock! Friendship is a two-way street! You're supposed to be there for me!"

Sherlock looked away from him again. "I don't have time for such sentimental things, John."

"Oh, piss off." John snapped, marching out of the room.

Sherlock let his facade drop the moment he was alone, his angry expression replaced by a miserable one. "I'm sorry." He murmured to the empty room.

**Let me know what you thought of it :)**

**xoxo**


	3. Back In John's Bedroom

**Chapter 3 for you all, glad you're liking it so far :)**

_Sherlock was dreaming. Having nightmares. Not the usual ones where he sees Moriarty, or where he is falling to his death, or where he is being stalked by a gigantic hound – this one was much worse. It was about John. They were at the pool and John had walked out with all those explosives stuck to him. Only this time... Sherlock couldn't save him. He couldn't get to him in time. And John... John..._

_Died._

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sherlock woke with a start. He sat bolt upright in his bed, sweat clinging to his bare body. His chest heaved in and out as he struggled to catch his breath. He dragged his shaking hands down his face, stretching his skin as he let out a low moan.

"Dear _God_." He groaned. "John..." His hands dropped and his eyes widened. "JOHN!"

He lurched out of the bed and bolted out of the bedroom. He realised halfway across the landing that he was still naked, cursed, and ran back to his room, pulling on some boxers. He spun back around and sprinted back to John's room, bursting through the door without knocking.

"JOHN!" He roared, running towards the rudely awoken doctor. He practically jumped on top of him on the bed and grasped his shoulders, shaking him violently. "JOHN!"

John stared up at Sherlock, eyes wide and confused. "Sherlock? What the bloody hell are you doing?"

Sherlock shook him again. "ARE YOU OKAY, JOHN? ANSWER ME, ARE YOU _OKAY_?"

"What? Yes, Sherlock, I'm fine! Get off me!" John shoved Sherlock away from him and sat up shakily in bed.

Sherlock scrambled away from him and sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed.

"What the _hell_ was that all about?" John hissed.

"I..." Sherlock paused briefly. "I had a bad dream."

John rolled his eyes at him. "Right. Right, sure. Very funny."

"I'm being serious, John. I had a nightmare."

"Wonderful, Sherlock. Really." John mumbled, settling back down into his covers, closing his eyes. "Very believable. Now go away, I'm tired."

"It was about you." Sherlock said quietly, looking away.

John opened his eyes. "About... _me_?"

"Yes."

John sat up, his tone softening. "What happened?"

Sherlock sighed, still avoiding the other man's eyes. "We were back by the pool with Moriarty. You had the explosives strapped to you. I went to save you but I couldn't get there in time and you... you..." His voice hitched in his throat and he shook his head, closing his eyes. "I watched you die, John. I had to come in here and check you were okay."

John started at Sherlock, unblinking. He didn't really know what to say. "Sherlock... it was just a dream."

"But I saw you die."

"But I'm here, Sherlock. Look at me, I'm here, I'm fine."

Sherlock looked at John, his eyes like a frightened child's. "I'm sorry about this morning. I shouldn't have said what I said. I should have been a better friend. I shouldn't have left you." He swallowed hard. "Forgive me."

"Sherlock, don't be silly–"

"Please, John." Sherlock said, shuffling closer. "I need to hear you say it. I was wrong and I need you to say that you forgive me."

John reached out and gently brushed his fingertips across the slender man's bare arm. "Okay, Sherlock, I forgive you."

"Thank you." He whispered.

"Do you..." John bit back his words, suddenly insecure. "Uh..."

Sherlock's eyes locked on John's. "Yes?"

"Do you... I mean, would you like to... uh..." He swallowed. "I guess what I'm trying to say is..." He sighed. "You don't have to go back to your room if you don't want to."

Sherlock frowned slightly. "You're inviting me into your bed? Again?"

"Well don't make it sound so... _smutty_."

"No, it's not that. I'm just surprised that you'd invite me back in after... well, you know."

John shrugged. "You're my friend and you need me." He pulled back the covers beside him. "Get in."

Sherlock looked at him. "Really?"

"Yes, really. But I swear to God, if I wake up and you're gone again this will be the last time ever."

Sherlock nodded and climbed under the covers next to John. He lay down, facing away from the doctor, curling into a protective ball. "Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

After a few moments, John was aware of Sherlock's shaking. He turned over and looked at the pale man with his back to him. "Sherlock, are you cold?"

"Not particularly."

John's heart melted. "You're still shaken up, aren't you?"

Sherlock didn't answer and John took that as a yes. John sighed and shuffled closer to Sherlock, pressing against his back gently. Sherlock jumped at the sudden contact.

"John?"

"Relax, I'm only trying to help." John murmured.

He draped one arm around the Detective, resting his hand tentatively on the man's bare chest. He tucked his knees in behind the backs of Sherlock's legs, spooning him. John nuzzled his face against Sherlock's neck, his warm breath rolling over his skin. Sherlock's trembling continued, however.

"Sherlock." John said in a soft voice. "Relax. You need sleep. I'll stay with you."

"Thank you." Sherlock whispered.

Slowly, Sherlock's shaking ceased and the two men drifted off into a deep slumber, indulging in the best night's sleep the both of them had had in years.

**Let me know what you thought, if you have the time :)**

**xoxo**


	4. Bedside Banter

**Enjoy, My Little Sparrows :)**

When Sherlock woke, his mind was blank. Completely blank. He was suddenly aware of the strong arms around him, keeping him warm and safe. He realised he was curled into John's chest, practically snuggled up to him. Even more alarming was the way Sherlock's hands were reaching up underneath John's pyjama shirt, resting on his chest.

His first instinct was to jerk away, naturally, but something kept him close. He felt warm and safe here, in John's arms. He felt strangely at home. And a part of him was delighted at the way the doctor's arms were so tightly wound around him, and how the other man's face was nestled into his dark hair.

_I could stay here..._ He mused, silently. He was so comfortable, and John would be so happy if he stayed. _I could stay here, where's the harm?_ And then he was suddenly snapped back to his senses. _John is your FRIEND. He's your FLATMATE. He's your PARTNER IN CRIME for Heaven's sake! You HAVE to leave!_

Sighing, Sherlock untangled himself from the other man's embrace. Slowly, trying to make as little movement and noise as possible, Sherlock got out of bed and crept over to the door. He stepped on a rogue floorboard that groaned painfully beneath his weight and Sherlock winced.

John woke immediately. "Sh... Sherlock? Where are you going?"

"I... I was just popping to the bathroom..." Sherlock mumbled, unable to lie to John's face.

John's face fell, his eyes clouding with hurt. "You were leaving me again, weren't you?"

"No, I–"

"Don't lie to me, Sherlock, I know when you're lying."

Sherlock sighed again and closed his eyes. "John... I can't do this. I can't stay here with you like this."

"Why not? I was here for you last night when you needed me; I was a good friend to you. Why do you find it so impossible to return my friendship?"

"But this is going a little further than the boundaries of friendship now, isn't it, John?"

John frowned at the Detective. "What are you talking about?"

Sherlock opened his eyes. "I can't be what you want me to be, John. I can't do this."

"All I want is for you to come back to bed."

"And you don't see anything weird about that?"

"I care about you and I want you close. Why does that suddenly make me the bad guy?"

"I care about you too, John. And that's why I can't be this close to you. It confuses me and makes me want to doubt myself. And when I doubt myself I lash out. I will end up lashing out at you one day, and that will hurt you a lot more than waking up to empty sheets in the morning."

John sighed and looked away from him. "Whatever you say, Sherlock. You've hurt me anyway regardless, but whatever. Walk out, do whatever you want, just don't come into my bedroom at night anymore if that's what you chose." John lay back down and faced away from Sherlock, turning his back on him.

Sherlock looked at John for a few more moments before turning away and reaching for the door handle.

_Go to him_, Something whispered in the back of his mind. _He needs you_. _Go to him. You want it too._

Sherlock gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes, trying to resist, but it was useless. Sighing, yet again, he turned back to John and walked over to the bed. He climbed under the covers and curled up behind John, spooning him like they had last night.

John said nothing for a few moments. Then he whispered, "Thank you."

"Shh," Sherlock murmured next to his ear. "Go to sleep. I promise I will be here when you wake up."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When John awoke, the first thing he noticed was the soft, warm skin pressed against his cheek. He quickly realised he had his head rested on Sherlock's chest. The next thing he noticed was the fingers that were delicately combing through his silvery-blonde hair. He tilted his chin up and looked up at Sherlock who was smiling down at him.

"Oh, so you're finally awake then?" The Detective asked in his baritone voice.

"How long did I sleep in for?" John asked groggily, making no attempt to move.

"Another three hours, thirty five minutes and approximately eight seconds – give or take. It's almost twelve noon now."

"How long have you been awake?"

"I never went back to sleep."

John smiled up at him. "You've been waiting here all this time?"

"Yes, and you have no idea how _agonisingly_ mind-numbing it was!"

John laughed gently, his breath rolling over Sherlock's bare stomach, making his muscles clench. "Thank you."

"Well, I figured I owed you."

"You owed me _big time_."

"Hmm, I know." Sherlock said quietly. He paused, thinking. "I'm so sorry, John."

John frowned. "What for?"

"For everything. I shouldn't have lied to you. I shouldn't have tried to leave. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're here now."

"I'm sorry I tried to read into things so much. You know me, I over-think things."

"I'm sorry I was being so forward about things. I forget sometimes that you just don't get it."

Sherlock looked at him. "Get _what_?"

"You know," John shrugged. "The closeness. I'm practically just a big teddy bear, and I forget that you don't really like, well, contact. I know you don't like being particularly personal with most people."

"Do you wish I was?"

John paused. "You mean, do I wish you were more personal with me?"

"Yes."

"Sometimes. Sometimes you seem so distant I get the feeling you don't actually care about me at all–"

"I do care about you." Sherlock said quickly, his eyes locking with Johns. "I can change if you want me to–"

"No!" Now it was John's turn to interrupt. "No, Sherlock, don't change. Never change. I like you the way you are."

Sherlock smiled. "Thank you."

John's phone beeped from where it was sitting on the bedside table and he leaned across to get it. Looking at the screen John said, "Sherlock, we've got a case and you're going to _love_ it."

**I really hope you're all liking the story so far :)**

**xoxo**


	5. Diamonds Below Deck

**Part 5 is here and I really hope you all like it :)**

"Mmm..." Sherlock mused, inspecting the corpse on the gurney. "I do love a good murder."

"A young man is dead, Sherlock, try to look sad about it." John reminded him.

"Oh sorry." Sherlock murmured. He made a concerted effort to shift his features to a sad expression. "Better?"

"There's still a hint of a smile, but it's better."

Sherlock nodded. "Excellent. Lestrade?

Lestrade looked over at him. "What have you found?"

"Murder, obviously."

Lestrade frowned. "How can you tell? There are no marks, no injuries, no _anything_."

"He was poisoned. His nails are discoloured, the whites of his eyes have turned yellow, his lips are swollen, his teeth are starting to erode, and his gums have been bleeding and oozing some sort of puss, not to mention his tongue that has been completely burned of all its taste buds."

"How does that make it murder?" Asked John. "It could have been suicide."

"As always, John, you see but you do not–"

"Observe, I know, I know." John sighed. "Come on then, what did I miss?"

Sherlock pointed to the man's chest. "Blood splatters on his shirt. He has no injuries so it's not his blood. It's still red rather than brown showing its fresh. He was attacked, and tried to defend himself – he must have caused the attacker some harm. However he was overpowered and forced to drink the poison. Simple, isn't it?"

"Uhh..."

"A poisoning!" Sherlock said, beginning to grin again. "Brilliant! Haven't gotten one of those in a while!"

"Sherlock..." John warned.

"Oh, come on, John! It's not just a murder – it's a _poisoning_! That makes it _twice_ as fun!"

"Sherlock, a man is dead."

"I know! Isn't it wonderful?"

"You're _awful_."

"Don't act like you don't _love_ it."

John arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry, _what_?"

Lestrade stepped in. "Ladies, please, enough with the flirting. Sherlock, will you take a look on the yacht please? We didn't call you down to the docks for a paddle in the sea. We found nothing on board, which means that naturally you'll find _everything_."

Sherlock tore his eyes from John and looked at Lestrade. "Naturally. Come, John."

Sherlock started towards the boat, climbing aboard. John sighed, giving Lestrade an apologetic look before following after. John joined Sherlock on the deck, looking around.

"Big yacht." Jon murmured. "He must have been pretty loaded."

Sherlock nodded. "It's alright for some. I'll check inside the cabins, you comb over the decks, text me if you find anything. We'll meet up in half an hour."

Sherlock turned to walk away but John called for him. "Wait, Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned back. "Yes?"

"You think the murderer might still be on here, don't you?"

"How could you tell?"

"Your face. You look like a kid in a sweet shop."

Sherlock grinned. "You can't deny me the fact that this is fun."

"No, that's true." John nodded. "But, Sherlock...?"

"Yes, John?"

John swallowed. "Please be careful."

"Likewise."

And with that, Sherlock turned and walked away, leaving John. John sighed and began his search for clues – or a possible murderer – on the deck. It only took a little over ten minutes before there was an explosion. The whole yacht rocked violently and John was thrown to his knees. He stumbled to his feet, his ears ringing and lurched forward, running towards the front of the boat where the blast had come from.

The first thing that John noticed – well, how could he not notice it? – was the front from of the ship. It was missing. Blown off and drifting away into the horizon of the ocean. The next thing he noticed was the way the whole yacht was slowly tilting as the water filtered onboard. Then, John saw the culprit, the murderer, swimming away back to the dock – the dock that was getting smaller and smaller into the distance. John realised with a horrible sinking in his stomach that the boat had been untied from the dock a long time ago and they had been drifting out to sea, now miles out. The last thing he noticed was that Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, God..." John groaned, looking around him, panicked. "SHERLOCK? _SHERLOCK?"_

John dug his mobile out of his jacket pocket and saw that he had seven miss calls, all from Sherlock. He cursed and tried to call him back but there was no answer.

"_Shit_!" He hissed, shoving the phone back in his pocket. He ran across the huge deck, and into the cabin. "SHERLOCK?"

He ran from room to room, calling out the Detective's name and receiving no answer. He cleared the first floor and upon finding nothing, decided to check on the lower floor. He ran to the stairs that curled downwards and his eyes widened. The bottom of the stairwell was submerged in water.

"Fuck!" John groaned. "SHERLOCK?"

"J...John?"

"SHERLOCK!" John flung himself down the stairs, throwing himself into the cold water that came up to his waist. He began to wade through the sea water. "SHERLOCK, WHERE ARE YOU?"

"John? I'm in here!"

"WHERE?"

"I don't know! I was knocked out!"

"Shit. Shit. Shit." John hissed under his breath. He searched through the rapidly filling hallway, looking through all the doors. He reached a door that wouldn't open and something clicked. He rattled the door. "Sherlock? You're in here, aren't you?"

"JOHN!" There was sound of someone thrashing through the water on the other side of the door. Sherlock's face appeared at the door window. "John! You found me!"

"Of course I'm here! I came to get you! How do I get you out? The door is locked!"

"The murderer knocked me out and dragged me in here! He locked the door and blew up the front of the ship – it was the explosion that woke me! I was calling you but the water started to rise and I dropped my phone in it, and now it's broken! You need to break me out!"

"I will, Sherlock, okay? I will! I saw an axe up on the deck, next to the fire hose! I'll run up and get it, and I'll be right back!"

"Okay, but..." Sherlock's voice dropped to a whisper. "John?"

John realised he had been shouting too and lowered his voice. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"Please be quick. I... I can't swim."

"I promise."

There was a horrible groaning noise all around them as the yacht strained against the might of the sea, and the electrics blew out. They were in complete darkness.

"John?" Sherlock called out, alarmed.

"It's okay, I'm here." John said, pulling out his torch, using it to illuminate both their faces.

Sherlock raised one hand and rested it on the glass. "John, I'm scared."

John bit his lip and too put his hand on the glass, opposite Sherlock's. "I'll be right back."

Sherlock nodded and John turned, traipsing back through the slowly submerging hallway, the water now up to his chest. He ran up the stairs, through the cabin and out onto the deck. He ran to where he had seen the axe before and his heart plummeted when he saw it was missing. A note sat where it had once been, writing scrawled across it: _Let's see you get out of this one, Dr Watson._

John growled, spun on his heel and ran, making his way back down to Sherlock. He reached the stairs and submerged himself in the water again, gasping at how it was now up to his neck. He swam down the hall back to the room where Sherlock was locked in. He shined his light into the room, and saw Sherlock's terrified face behind the window.

"John?" He said. "Did you get the axe?"

"No." John panted. "It was gone – the murderer took it. This is strong glass, Sherlock, I don't know what else to use that can break it."

For a moment, John looked into Sherlock's eyes and he saw the raw fear hiding behind them. Suddenly the fear was replaced by something else. Determination? Purpose? Resolve?

"John." Sherlock said, finding a strong voice. "You have to leave."

John was taken aback. "L... leave? Wait... _what?"_

"Leave, John, save yourself. Forget about me."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, John, you have to leave me. You have a long life ahead of you. Go home and forget about me. Meet a girl, have children, be a dad – you'd be a great father, John. Grow old and live a happy life without me."

"Sherlock..." John began. "There _is_ no happy life without you. I need you."

"You need to let me go."

"I _can't_."

"Try." Sherlock whispered.

"Sherlock, please..."

"I..." Sherlock chose his words very carefully. "I care about you a lot, John."

"Sherlock! No!"

But it was too late. Sherlock had dropped out of sight, letting the water submerge him. Air bubbles rose to the surface as Sherlock sunk lower.

"SHERLOCK!" John roared, pounding his fists against the glass. He grabbed the door handle and shook it violently and when that didn't work he tried to force the door open – but to no avail. "SHERLOCK!"

The water was steadily rising, almost going past his chin, and he strained to think of a solution. It was only when the air bubbles stopped rising to the surface, signalling Sherlock had run out of air, that his brain was forced into overdrive.

"Think, John, _think_!" He growled at himself, pounding his fists against the door in frustration.

Suddenly his eyes widened as an idea came to him. He looked down at the sleeves of his shirt seeing his cufflinks. His _diamond_ cufflinks. He fished around in his jacket pocket, thanking God when he pulled out an old packet of chewing gum. He popped one in his mouth, chewing fervently while taking out the diamond from his cufflink. He spat the chewing gum out into his hand and stuck it to the middle of the window pane. He freed the diamond and stuck it to the gum. He looked around him, panicked knowing he was running out of time, looking for something heavy to break the glass with. His eyes rested on a fire extinguisher near the end of the hallway. He swam to the end of the corridor, retrieved it and swam back.

"Hold on, Sherlock!" John called, his words garbled as the salt water flowed into his mouth. "I'll get you out!"

John raised the fire extinguisher, pulling it back. He braced himself, shutting his eyes and swung forward. The moment the metal made contact with the diamond, the glass shattered. John dropped the fire extinguisher and thrust his arms through the jagged glass, reaching down and scooping the unconscious Sherlock up from the floor. He pulled him through the smashed window and pulled him against this chest.

John went to bring them back to the surface but he smashed his head against the ceiling and realised with a sickening sensation that there was no air left to breathe. All that was left to do was swim. He kicked his legs powerfully, still cradling Sherlock against his chest, making his way down the hallway. Getting up the stairs was more difficult, and he was running out of breath as he swam through the first floor. He made his way up to the deck and finally they broke the surface. John slung Sherlock over his shoulder and sucked in a huge gulp of air.

The doctor towed the unconscious detective back to the docking port where Lestrade and a team of the police force were waiting pulled them out of the water. Sherlock was rolled onto the dock, people crowding round his pale – almost bluish – still from, panicking.

John stumbled over to Sherlock, dropping to his knees beside him. "Everyone out of my way! I'm a Doctor!" He breathed, coughing.

John looked at the lifeless Detective and his medical training came to him in an instant. First of all, John ran though the basic D.R.A.B.C. steps. Danger – he had gotten Sherlock out of harm's way. Response – Sherlock was out cold. Airways – John opened Sherlock's mouth, clearing his airways. Breathing – John knew Sherlock wasn't breathing, and this was why he skipped out step C, and went straight to administering CPR.

He pulled Sherlock's coat open, pulling away his jacket, ripping open his drenched shirt, exposing his pale chest. John placed his hands on Sherlock's chest and began the compressions, counting them out as he went.

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5..."

_Come on, Sherlock..._

"6, 7, 8, 9, 10..."

_Please, Sherlock..._

"11, 12, 13, 14, 15..."

_Dear God, Sherlock, please wake up..._

John knew what he had to do. He bowed his head and pinched Sherlock's nose, clamping his mouth over the other mans. He breathed deeply and slowly into Sherlock's mouth, making his chest raise and fall. He did this action twice and then went back to compressing his chest again. When there was still no response, John brought his mouth back to Sherlock's, giving him the kiss of life again.

Sherlock's chest suddenly heaved and his eyes shot open, he sat bolt upright, coughing and vomiting up salt water. He looked around, his eyes glassy and bewildered. He managed to focus hazily on John. "What the...? Why aren't I dead?"

"SHERLOCK!" John cried, lunging forward and throwing his arms around the slender man. "Oh God, you're alive!"

"Yeah..." Sherlock panted, returning the Doctor's embrace. "How the hell did that happen?"

**Sorry it all got a little Titanic-ish there for a moment, but I hope you liked it all the same :)**

**Much love!  
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**xoxo  
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	6. Scars Of The Past

**Chapter 6 - Thank you all for your amazing support so far! Much love and hugs to you all!**

**Warning, this chapter talks about a couple of sensitive issues, but I've tried to handle it with the utmost respect and dignity that it deserves.  
**

**Thank you.  
**

"Ow." Sherlock mumbled. "Right there, that hurts."

John nodded, cleaning the wound on the back of Sherlock's head. "You took a pretty heavy blow, but you're going to be alright."

Sherlock was sitting on his bed back at their flat. He had refused to go to the hospital, stating that John was more than competent of seeing to his injuries himself, and now here they were in Sherlock's room, John gently cleansing the gash on the back of the Detective's head.

"Ow!" Sherlock hissed, his fists clenching.

"Sorry." John said, softly. "I'm trying to be as gentle as possible."

"Is it going to need to be patched up?"

"No, it looks worse than what it is. It's not an open wound, so don't worry, you won't need stiches or anything. Head wounds bleed a lot, but you shouldn't worry about it too much, you'll be fine. You'll be just fine."

"Sounds like you're trying to convince yourself more than you're trying to convince me." Sherlock murmured.

John said nothing.

"I'm okay John." Sherlock said quietly. "I'm fine."

John still said nothing.

"John, listen to me, I am completely fine."

"No you're not, Sherlock."

"I am."

"You almost died."

"But I didn't."

John sighed and got up off the bed. He picked up the small chair in the corner of the room and brought it over to the bed, sitting down on it so that he was facing the other man. He reached for the bottle of antiseptic and the cotton balls on the bedside table. He dabbed some of the clear liquid onto the cotton and extended his hand to Sherlock's cheekbone, gently cleaning the cut on his skin.

Sherlock winced. "Ow."

"Sorry." John said quietly – almost a whisper.

John cleaned the other cuts on Sherlock's face and hands in silence, Sherlock's gaze fixed on him the entire time.

"There." John said finally, not meeting Sherlock's eyes. "Good as new." He got up off the chair. "I'm making tea, do you want one?"

Sherlock sighed. "John, look at me."

"No, Sherlock." He said, turning away from the other man.

"Look at me, John."

"I can't."

"I'm okay, John. I'm here, alive, safe. I'm okay."

"NO YOU'RE NOT OKAY!" John roared, finally snapping, spinning round to face Sherlock. "IT'S NOT OKAY! YOU ALMOST _DIED_! HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT IS OKAY?"

Sherlock stood up and stepped towards his friend. "John, stop it. You're working yourself up. You're shaking."

"WHAT DO YOU CARE? YOU WERE ABOUT TO LEAVE ME AGAIN! YOU WERE GOING TO KILL YOUSELF! WHAT DO YOU CARE ABOUT ME FOR?"

"John, don't be unfair."

John laughed once, humourlessly. "_ME_ BE UNFAIR?"

"Yes. I was just trying to save you."

"WELL DON'T!" John's voice cracked. "For fuck's sake Sherlock, I just wish…" His voice hitched in his throat. "I just wish you'd stop trying to kill yourself to save me." His eyes burned with the tears that he wouldn't let fall, He growled in frustration at himself and he pushed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes.

Sherlock was quiet for a few moments before murmuring. "John, I am so sorry."

"You should be." John whispered.

"I gave you quite a scare didn't I?"

"I've already lost you once, Sherlock; I can't go through it again. I just _can't."_

"John…" Sherlock whispered. He stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around the smaller man.

"No, Sherlock…" John, protested, trying to pull away, not wanting to appear weak.

"Please?" Sherlock asked, gently. "I want to help you. _Please?"_

Suddenly all of John's defences fell down and he allowed Sherlock to take him into his arms and embrace him. John buried his face in Sherlock's scarf and sobbed helplessly. Sherlock bowed his head and kissed John's hair, holding him close as he shook and cried.

"Stop trying to leave me." John whimpered, almost pleaded, through his tears.

"Never again." Sherlock whispered. "Never again. I am so sorry."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't get myself in a state like this. You shouldn't have to look after me. I'm being stupid."

"Nonsense." Sherlock soothed in a low tone. "It's about time I took care of you for a change. Did you hurt yourself?"

John pulled away slightly so that he could look up Sherlock. "I bashed my shoulder. My left one, but it's fine."

"Do you want me to take a look–"

"No!" John blurted out. He took a step back from Sherlock, wiping his eyes. "No, I'll be fine."

Sherlock was reluctant to let go of John, especially when he was looking so scared and frail, and he kept his hands on the smaller man's arms. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Sherlock looked at him, sympathetic. "Is it a big scar?"

John frowned. "Sherlock... I can't… I can't talk about it…"

"You can trust me. You can talk to me about anything."

"It's too painful to talk about. And it looks disgusting. _I'm_ disgusting."

Sherlock reached a hand to John's face and brushed a hand across his cheekbone. "You don't have to be ashamed of who you are because of your scar." He hesitated. "You're not the only one with scars, John."

John looked up at him with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled up his sleeve, avoiding John's eyes. "I mean that we all have scars we're not proud of…"

John looked at Sherlock's exposed forearm and gasped. All up Sherlock's arm were dozens upon dozens of horizontal scars, the pale damaged tissue indicating that had been cut deep and with malice. Amongst all the horizontal scars was a long vertical one following his artery along his arm, spanning from his wrist to his elbow.

"We all have scars, John." He repeated, quietly.

John took Sherlock's arm in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the pale scars. "God, Sherlock…" He whispered. "What happened?"

"I had an unhappy childhood."

"It looks like a little more than that."

Sherlock sighed and took John's hand in his. He pulled the shorter man over to the bed and they sat down beside each other.

"Tell me." John said, softly.

"It's not a pretty story." Sherlock mumbled, looking down at his lap.

John put his hand under Sherlock's chin and turned his face to him. "Please? Let me help you?"

Sherlock sighed. "It started when I was fourteen. Back when my mother was diagnosed with depression and my father's drinking problem had gotten way out of hand. He'd go out in the evenings and come back at some God-awful time in the morning, drunk out of his stupid head. He'd go to the bedroom and wake my mother up, locking the door behind him. It was her screaming that would wake me up. I'd go running to her door, pounding my fist against the wood, begging him to stop, but he never did. I was only young but I knew what he was doing to her."

"Sherlock…"

"He'd come back out once he'd had his way with her." Sherlock continued. "I'd try and fight him, punch him, kick him, but he would easily beat me. I'd always go into my mother's room to make sure he hadn't killed her this time, and it would be the same old scene: my mother crying on the bed, the bed sheets soaked in her blood, me crying, screaming her name, but never getting a response from her. It drove Mycroft insane. He'd shut himself away in his room, crying, ignoring what was going on outside. Every time I saw her lying there, broken, knowing there was nothing I could do to help, I…" he swallowed. "I took a blade to my skin. I had to punish myself for being so _useless_. I was so pathetic and bloody _useless _to help her. I decided from that moment on that I would never be so helpless ever again. If anyone needed me, I would be able to help them. It's why I do what I do today."

"Sherlock, please." John whispered.

"I was so tired of being so… so _stupid_, and _pitiful_, and…" Sherlock paused, biting his lip, not trusting himself to speak anymore.

John saw Sherlock's eyes filling up with tears and he cupped the man's face in his hands. "Sherlock Holmes, you are anything but stupid or useless or any of those other things."

"John… stop…" Sherlock's voice quivered.

"You are honest to God the most amazing person I have ever met."

"You're going to make me cry, John. Stop it."

"No." He murmured pulling the taller man into his arms. "You are remarkable and you deserve to know it."

Sherlock groaned as he melted into John's arms, biting his bottom lip to hold back his sobs, however there was nothing he could do to shop his own trembling. John ran his hand along Sherlock's inner arm and felt the long vertical scar along his artery. He pulled away and inspected the damaged tissue.

"When did you do this?" John asked, tentatively.

"When I couldn't take it anymore." He replied quietly, his eyes damp.

"Oh, Sherlock..." John sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise."

John lifted Sherlock's forearm and bowed his head to his wrist, delicately kissing his scars. He trailed the kissed up Sherlock's arm, resulting in the Detective trembling lightly. John realised he had overstepped the mark and looked up at Sherlock apologetically.

"I'm sorry." He murmured.

Sherlock looked at him, his eyes half lidded. "Don't stop."

"But Sherlock–"

"Please, John."

There was a moment of silence between them. John went to move closer to Sherlock, but his phone beeped and scared the life out of both of them. He pulled out his phone and sighed.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"We're needed. The murderer has been spotted."

**I hope no one was too upset or offended by that. If anyone was, I am truly very sorry.**

**More updates to come soon :)  
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**xoxo  
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	7. Sulking

**The title say it all really!**

**Enjoy!**

**P.S. Sorry it's so long!**

"YOU WERE WRONG!" Sherlock bellowed in Anderson's face.

"DON'T YELL AT ME!" Anderson shot back.

"THE MURDERER WAS A TALL MALE, WELL BUILT, AND HAD DARK HAIR!"

"YEAH, SO?"

"SO WHY THE HELL DID YOU CALL ME IN TO INVESTIGATE A SHORT BLONDE WOMAN?"

"SHE WAS SEEN AT THE BOAT DOCK!" Anderson spluttered, his face turning a peculiar shade of cerise.

"ANDERSON, YOU'RE A BLITHERING IDIOT!" Sherlock roared. "IN FACT, YOU'RE TOO STUPID TO BE CALLED AN IDIOT! YOU'RE AN IMBECILE, AND CALLING YOU AN IDIOT WOULD BE AN INSULT TO IDIOTS EVERYWHERE!"

"Okay! Okay!" John said, stepping between the two men. "Can we just calm things down a bit here please?"

Sherlock tore his angry gaze from Anderson and looked at John. "He called me away for nothing, John, called _us_ away for nothing."

"And?" Anderson snapped. "What important experiment did I call you both from?"

Sherlock and John swallowed in unison.

"Nothing." John said.

"Shut up and mind your own business." Growled Sherlock.

"You can't talk to me like tha–" Anderson began but Sherlock cut him off.

"Just go home please, Anderson, you lower the intelligence of the whole street!"

Anderson was slowly making a transition from cerise to an unsightly purple colour. "Why you little..."

"Boring." Sherlock said in his low tone before turning on is heel and striding away.

John frowned, jogging after him. "Sherlock! Hold on!" He caught up with the Detective, catching his arm and pulling him to a stop. "What's gotten into you, Speedy Gonzales?"

"Did you _hear_ the way he spoke to me? To _us_?"

"I mostly just heard stupid."

This at least got a small smile out of Sherlock, but it was short-lived. "But really though, what business is it what we were doing before we came out?"

"Well..." John said slowly, trying to analyse Sherlock's thoughts. "We weren't doing anything before we came out..."

"No." Sherlock shook his head. "No, of course not."

"We were just talking."

"Exactly."

"I mean, it's not like we were ripping each other's clothes off or anything."

"No... of course not."

Both men coughed awkwardly. Sherlock's stomach growled loudly, breaking the ice.

"Hungry?" John asked, innocently enough.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at him. "Hungry for what?"

John frowned. "Well, you know, _food_?"

"Oh... right..."

"What did you think I was talking about?"

"I... don't know..."

"Right, okay..." John mumbled. "Well, we can stop by somewhere on the way home if you like?"

Sherlock looked at him. "There are no restaurants on the way home."

John raised his eyebrows and laughed. "Oh yes there are."

"There are?"

John sighed. "Come on."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"What do you want to eat?" John asked.

"Nothing." Sherlock grumbled, crossing his arms and pouting.

"Sherlock," John said, using a tone as if he was scolding a child. "Don't make a scene in the middle of a restaurant."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are, you're sulking."

"No I'm not."

"You're doing it right now."

"Bugger off."

"Fine. If you're going to act like a child, I'm going to treat you like a child." John sighed and turned back to the poor girl working behind the counter. "One chicken and bacon deli meal and one fish finger Happy Meal please."

"I DO NOT WANT TO EAT AT MC'DONALDS!" Sherlock exploded, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Everyone in the eating establishment stopped and stared at him.

"Sherlock!" John snapped. "That is no way to behave in a restaurant!"

"IT'S NOT A RESTAURANT! IT'S MC'DONALDS!"

"That's it! Go stand outside!" John ordered.

Sherlock somewhat faltered. "W... wait... _WHAT?"_

"You heard! If you can't behave yourself you can go stand outside!"

"I don't want to–"

"OUTSIDE!"

Sherlock gave John a smouldering glare before turning on his heel and stalking away.

John turned back to the girl serving him and gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry about him – he's always like that."

The girl blinked at him. "Oh... oh right. So, um, what drinks did you want with that?"

"Two cokes please."

"And what toy would you like in the Happy Meal?"

"Nothing, he doesn't deserve a toy after that."

"Right." The girl nodded.

She scribbled the order down and handed it to the team behind her who began to put John's order together. John paid when his meal was handed to him in take-away bags, and he ventured outside to find Sherlock. He found him sitting on the playground swings, sulking.

"That was really no way to behave." John said as he sat down on the swing next to Sherlock, handing him his Happy Meal.

"I don't like eating at McDonalds. Only chubby, lazy individuals with a future onset of obesity and liver failure eat here." Sherlock said, huffily taking his meal.

John frowned. "Hey... _I_ eat here."

Sherlock looked at John. "You do?"

"I do."

"Oh."

"Just eat your damn Happy Meal, Sherlock."

Sherlock huffed again and looked inside his bag. "Ohh..." He groaned.

"What is it, Sherlock?" Sighed John. "What is it now?"

"They forgot my toy."

"Oh? Oh did they really? How odd." John mumbled, turning his attention back to his food.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

After they had finished with their food, John eating it all and feeling rather satisfied, and Sherlock just picking at it, they had gotten a cab back to 221B Baker Street. John went to open the door but realised he'd left his house key indoors on the coffee table.

"Sherlock, do you have your key? I forgot mine." John asked, looking back at him.

Sherlock nodded, fishing around in his coat pockets. "Yes, somewhere."

"Hurry up, it's getting cold out."

"I told you to bring a coat."

"Shut up."

Sherlock looked down at him through his long, black eyelashes. "Now who's being childish?"

"Be quiet. Have you got your key?"

Sherlock searched for it for a bit longer before coming up short. "No."

"Great."

"It's fine; we'll just wake Mrs Hudson."

John shook his head. "No we won't, she's not in."

Sherlock frowned at him. "She isn't?"

"She has a date tonight. She told us yesterday. Don't you listen?"

"Mrs Hudson is on a date? With _who?"_

"Teddy Walker, the little old man who owns the flower shop around the corner. He's taking her out for ballroom dancing."

Sherlock's frown deepened. "_Ballroom dancing?"_

"She said she'll be back by 10pm, she won't be long." John looked at his watch. "Just an... oh... an hour."

"Great." Sherlock grumbled sinking down so he was sitting on the doorstep.

John sat beside him. "Don't start sulking again. Twice in one night is not becoming."

"I'm not sulking."

"You are."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Go away."

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Sherlock."

After less than five minutes of waiting Sherlock groaned exaggeratedly loudly.

"What now?" John asked, exasperated.

"I'm bored."

"It's been less than five minutes."

"Exactly. Entertain me."

John looked at him. "What?"

"Entertain me." Sherlock repeated.

"How?"

"Oh, I don't care."

John paused, thinking for a few moments. Finally he said, "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with L."

Sherlock sighed. "Easy. Lamp post. Again."

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with..." John tried to pick something harder. "D"

"Drain pipe. Again."

"Dammit. Something beginning with ... V"

"Volvo."

"Something beginning with–"

"Puddle."

John frowned. "How did you know I was going to pick that?"

"You are _so_ obvious, John." Sherlock said with a grin, turning to look at the Doctor. "Pick something a little more difficult would you?"

John frowned, studying Sherlock's face. Suddenly he got an idea. "Alright then, smart-arse. I spy with my little eye something beginning with C."

Sherlock opened his mouth, then closed it again, puzzled. "Wait... something beginning with C?"

"Yep. Not so clever now, are we?"

"Give me a moment, I'll get it."

"No you won't."

"Don't undermine my intelligence, John."

"I'm undermining you ability to _observe_." John said, grinning. "You can see it, but you are not _observing_ it."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at John. "I'm looking at it right now?"

"Yes."

"On your face?"

"Yes, and I'm looking at it on your face too."

Sherlock tilted his heat to one side, thinking. "Give me a clue."

John in reply, licked his lips.

It only took Sherlock a moment to catch on. "Cupid's bow."

John smiled, nodding. He reached a hand up to Sherlock's face and brushed his thumb across Sherlock's top lip. "You have the strongest Cupid's bow I have ever seen."

Sherlock had no idea what to say. Suddenly he blurted out. "I'm sorry for shouting earlier."

"Me too." John's hand lingered, resting against Sherlock's cheek.

"Your hand is shaking." Sherlock noticed "You're shaking all over. Are you cold?"

John shrugged. "I'm fine."

"John, your skin is ice cold."

"I should have brought a coat with me I guess."

Sherlock unbuttoned his coat and held it open to John. "Here, get in."

John arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Get in the coat with me, John, I'm not having you freeze."

"But, Sherlock... people might talk."

"And? Let them."

John eyed Sherlock for a few moments, unsure. Eventually he sighed and shuffled closer to Sherlock, slipping his arms inside the coat, winding them around the slender man's torso. Sherlock pulled John in close and wrapped the coat around them so that they were both huddled close inside the warm fabric.

Sherlock looked down at John. "Better?"

"Much." John said.

He tilted his head upwards to look at the Detective, but underestimated how close together they were and their lips accidentally brushed together in an unintentional feather-light kiss. Both men froze, staring into each other's eyes.

"I'm sorry!" John blurted out. "I didn't mean to!"

"John..."

"It was an accident, Sherlock, I swear!"

"John, relax..."

"I just didn't realise you were so close–"

Sherlock silenced him, putting a finger to the blonde man's lips. "I know, John. Accidents happen. It's fine, okay?"

John looked away and tried to escape Sherlock's embrace. "I should probably stand over there now..."

"John..."

John looked back at Sherlock. "What?"

"You're not leaving this coat. You'll catch your death."

"But–"

"That is an _order,_ Soldier."

John sighed, suppressing a smile, and melted back against Sherlock's frame. "Fine, have it your way."

Sherlock rested his chin upon John's head. "I always do."

After a few moments John murmured. "It really _was_ an accident, you know."

"I know."

"Are you mad at me?"

Sherlock laughed softly. "Why would I be mad at you?"

John paused. "I don't know. _Are_ you?"

"Of course I'm not."

"Good." John said, smiling. He couldn't help the sudden yawn that took over his mouth.

"Tired?" Sherlock asked, quietly.

"It's been a long day."

"Go to sleep. I will wake you up when Mrs Hudson gets here."

"Really?" John asked, looking up at him. "I don't want you to be stuck here, bored, looking over me."

Sherlock smiled. "I'm sure I'll manage."

John smiled gratefully up at the detective and ducked his head under the taller man's chin, curling into his chest. Sherlock wrapped his arms and coat tightly around the smaller man, keeping him as warm and close as possible. A few moments later and John was fast asleep in Sherlock's arms.

**Sorry again for it's unruly length!**

**Thanks for reading, I'll update soon :)  
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**xoxo  
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	8. Shocking Mornings

**Chapter 8 - Enjoy!**

When John woke, his eyelids fluttering open, he realised with a private little smile to himself that his head was resting against Sherlock's bare chest. He felt Sherlock's fingers running through his hair and his other hand tracing up and down his spine. Not wanting to end this moment, John closed his eyes again, pretending to still be asleep.

"John, I know you're awake."

John grinned but didn't open his eyes. "How could you tell?"

"I felt your eyelashes flutter against my skin."

John opened his eyes and tilted his head up to look at Sherlock. "You're kidding?"

Sherlock cracked a smile. "What do you think?"

"I think you're a high functioning smart-ass." When Sherlock looked hurt, John nuzzled his face against the slender man's chest to show he was only joking. "How did we end up in my bed anyway?"

"You feel asleep on me outside last night." Sherlock explained, tracing a finger up and down John's jaw line. "Mrs Hudson arrived at about 11:13, I carried you inside and put you to bed. I was going to leave but you started shaking. I thought you might be having another nightmare so I stayed." Sherlock paused. "Was that wrong of me?"

John smiled up at Sherlock. "No. No, it was exactly right."

Sherlock smiled a slow smile. "You talk in your sleep, you know."

John looked surprised. "I do?"

"Well, more of a mumble, but yes."

"What did I say?"

Sherlock grinned, a very rare smile that was only ever saved for John. "You were yelling at me – or trying to at least."

John laughed. "What was I yelling at you about?"

"For eating all the jam apparently."

John groaned, slightly embarrassed, and buried his face against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock's breathing quickened slightly when he felt John's warm breath rolling against his skin, but he was sure the Doctor didn't notice.

"I'm an idiot." John mumbled.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded. "But you're _my_ idiot."

John looked up at him immediately. "What?"

Sherlock realised his mistake instantly. "Uh... what?"

"What did you just say?" Asked John.

"Um... nothing."

"Yes... yes you did."

"No I didn't."

"You called me _yours_."

"No I didn't." Sherlock shook his head. "You're hearing things."

John frowned, perplexed. "No I'm not. My hearing is just fine."

"No, no, I think your ears must be hallucinating."

"ButI _heard_ you."

"You heard me call you an idiot – as I always do. No offense meant of course, John." Sherlock sat up, rolling John off his chest as he did so. He patted the smaller man's head, very matter-of-factly, and gave him a small smile as he got out of bed, pulling on his silk blue robe. "What do you want for breakfast?"

John sat up, bewildered. "You... you're making me breakfast?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Sherlock... are you trying to distract me?"

"Would I do such a thing?" Sherlock laughed then paused. "Is it working?"

"I don't know..." John's frown deepened. "I'm confused."

"Brilliant. So what was it we were talking about again?"

John's expression became even more puzzled. "I... don't... know..."

"Brilliant!" Sherlock said brightly, flashing John his 500kilowat smile before dashing out the bedroom door.

"Sherlock, wait!" John called after him, jumping out of bed. He looked down at himself seeing he was in the same clothes as yesterday, Sherlock obviously just taking off his jacket and shoes. He pulled off his old clothes, tugging on clean underwear, a shirt and pair of jeans. He pulled on some fresh socks and bolted out of the room. He ran to the kitchen. "Sherlock!"

The moment his foot touched the kitchen tiles, his socks slipped against the smooth flooring, his legs being yanked out from underneath him. John let out a startled yelp as the floor rushed up to meet his face. Suddenly a strong pair of hands was gripping him at his sides, pulling the Doctor back to his feet. The two stumbled backwards, John's back pressing against the kitchen wall, the Detective looming over him.

"Careful." Sherlock murmured, his voice a little huskier than he expected, his hands still against John's hips, pressing him against the wall.

John stared up at the taller man, looking into his pale eyes, and he suddenly felt like a frightened child. He had no idea what to do, so he stood there still. "Sherlock?" He asked in a small voice.

"John..." Sherlock practically breathed his name.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I don't know." Sherlock mumbled, his gaze raking over every inch of the man trapped between him and the wall.

"Sherlock I–"

"Shh. Don't talk, I'm thinking." Mumbled Sherlock, not taking his eyes away from John.

"But–"

"John..." Sherlock repeated, but this time it was more of a sigh than anything else. "John..." He echoed, bowing his head and burying it in the crook of John's neck.

"Sherlock!" John gasped. "What... What are you doing?"

"Haven't a clue." Sherlock murmured against John's skin. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." John let out the word in one long breath.

The sound of John's phone ringing in his trouser pocket seemed to bring Sherlock back to his senses. He pulled away, his fingertips still lingering on the smaller man's hips. "You're mobile is ringing."

"I don't care." John muttered, reaching out and grabbing the fabric of Sherlock's robe, trying to pull the taller man back to him.

"You should answer it." Sherlock said, prising John's hands away from him.

"No, Sherlock, don't..."

Sherlock sighed and reached a hand inside John's trouser pocket, pulling out his phone. John visibly jumped at Sherlock's touch. The Detective put the phone in his friend's hand.

"Answer it." He ordered. "It might be important."

John was about to argue, but one look from Sherlock stopped him. Sighing he answered his phone, holding it up to his ear.

"Hello? Mum, is that you? Mum... mum... stop crying. Calm down – what's wrong?"

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at John who just shrugged.

"Mum... mum... please, just tell me what's wrong." John paused for a long while, listening. Suddenly the phone slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor. "Oh God..."

Sherlock look at him, concerned. "John? John, what is it? What's the matter?"

"It's my sister, Harry." John replied, voice weak.

"Yes, what about her?"

"She overdosed. She's dead."

**Let me know what you thought :)**

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	9. Goodbye Harry

**Okay, my lovlies, just a quick notice. I'm going away on holiday today to Tenerife for a week, so no updates for a while. My SkulPles readers out there, if you're wondering where your Valduggery updates are, I promise you I will write some when I get back - I've just been feeling a little uninspired in the SP department lately. Anyway! I'll be back on Saturday! Much Love! Missing you all already!**

**Enjoy the story!  
**

"Are you ready to go?" Sherlock asked, quietly, looking up at the Doctor from where he sat in his armchair as the blonde man entered the room.

John looked over at him, his eyes dull. "Yes. How do I look?"

John was dressed smartly, all in black, and Sherlock approved. "Appropriate."

The Doctor nodded. "You too."

Sherlock looked at his best friend sympathetically – not a usual feat for the Detective – and stood up, walking over to him. He gently laid a hand on John's shoulder, squeezing softly. "Are you okay?"

John sighed. "No, not really."

"It won't be as bad as you think."

"No, you're right. It will be worse."

"But you'll have me." Sherlock said, trailing his hand down John's arm, their hands finally meeting and clinging on tight to one another. "And I will do whatever I can to help you, okay?"

John smiled weakly at the taller man. "Thank you. I know this is all alien to you."

"A little, yes." Sherlock admitted.

"Well, you're doing a good job."

Sherlock smiled softly at him. "Thank you."

"Just don't let me lose it today in front of everyone, okay? I just need to keep it in check, for everyone else. I have to be strong for my mum, that's the important thing."

"You just let me know when you need me, and I'll be there."

John's gaze slipped down to his feet. His hand subconsciously gripped onto Sherlock's a little tighter. "I'll always need you, Sherlock."

"John..." Sherlock murmured softly, his spare hand reaching up and stroking across John's cheek.

The cab that was pulled up outside 221B honked its car horn for what seemed like the millionth time.

Sherlock sighed, a small, sad smile playing over his lips. "We need things to stop interrupting us like this."

John looked up, meeting Sherlock's eyes. "What would have happened if we weren't interrupted?"

"Oh, John..." Sherlock murmured forlornly, cupping the smaller man's face in his hands. "Let's save that for another time, shall we?"

John nodded, looking back down at his feet. "Okay."

"Hey," Sherlock said, tilting John's face up to look at him again. "It's going to be alright."

"Okay." John repeated numbly.

The car ride to the funeral was quiet. John kept his gaze focused on the world outside, whizzing past him, and Sherlock left him to his thoughts. At one point Sherlock though he heard the tiniest whimper escape the Doctor's lips and he looked over at him, concerned, but not really knowing what to do. He reached across and laid a hand on the back of John's neck, soothingly.

"Thank you." John mumbled, voice strained.

The service itself was small. There was obviously not a lot of family members left that Harry had stayed in touch with. John hugged his mother when he got out of the cab and then introduced her to Sherlock. John was astonished by how kind and understanding Sherlock was being to his mother, apologising for her loss, wishing her well, and other comforts. Sherlock wasn't considerate to people he had known for _years_, let alone, five minutes. And apart from all that, Sherlock didn't _do_ empathy – not for _anyone_. Well, anyone except...

John stopped dead in his train of thought. Of course. Sherlock was doing this all for him. He was making himself highly uncomfortable just to ease John's pain. John was suddenly overwhelmed with affection for the man, the sudden flood of emotions making him want to cry again – but he held it back. There would be time for tears later, when he was alone.

The ceremony was miserable to say the least. Sherlock was not used to going to funerals. He sparsely had friends to mourn when they died, and even if someone he did know died, he never usually went to the funeral. John and Sherlock sat at the front with John's mother, John in the middle of both of them.

The priest said his condolences to the small crowd, leading them in the service. At one point he asked if anyone would like to say a few words. All eyes went to John's mother, but she was too much in a state to get up and talk, therefore everyone's gaze fell upon John himself.

"John." Sherlock whispered next to his friend's ear. "Are you going to say something?"

"Sherlock... I ... I _can't_." John whispered back.

"If you don't, nobody else will. You can't let your sister have such a dejected send off."

"I wouldn't know what to say."

"Say how you feel."

"I feel _awful_."

"Then tell them."

John gave Sherlock a long, sad, yet understanding look. Finally he stood up, walking over to the podium. He couldn't bring himself to look at anyone, so he kept his gaze trained on his hands that were resting in tight fists on the stand in front of him.

He cleared his throat. "Um... Harry and I were never close. She was never really a sister to me when we were younger, and she was certainly never my friend as we grew up. She sort of shut me out, I guess. So in return I turned my back on her. When she got her drinking problem, I made an effort to reach out to her, but she always rejected my help. So after a while I just gave up on her. I think we all did really. She was her own worst enemy and it got to a point where I couldn't even bare to look at her anymore. She disgusted me. She repelled me. I couldn't understand how she could be so selfish, drinking herself to death, not caring about her friends or family... or me. All I ever wanted was an older sister who I could look up to and depend on, but that just wasn't Harry. She wasn't one you could rely on. I ended up resenting her. She despised me and the feeling was mutual." John paused, looking up, his eyes briefly locking with Sherlock's before falling back down to his hands. "But despite all that, she is... _was_, my sister. And I loved her. I wish I had gotten over my pathetic grudges towards her and just been the bigger person and apologised, because if I did, I probably would have gotten to spend more time with her. Maybe I'd even have some happy memories with her. Because now there's just this empty space in my chest where she should have always been, and now it's just going to remain empty, and it hurts so much." He looked at Harry's coffin, addressing her directly. "I'm sorry I wasn't a better brother to you. I am completely to blame, I know that, and I just–" His voice cracked and trembled. "I just miss you so much. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock watched with an extremely heavy heart as John stepped down from the podium and joined him on the front row. John kept his head down, his face well hidden, but Sherlock could tell from the slight trembles that shook his shoulders that he was trying not to cry.

Sherlock took one of John's hands in both of his. "You did well."

John just nodded.

The rest of the ceremony passed quickly. The coffin was carried outside and taken to the graveyard where it was lowered slowly into the ground. The priest spoke a few final words, more people breaking down into tears by this point.

Sherlock looked over at John to see him standing composed, looking down into the grave. One lone tear rolled down his cheek, staining his skin. The detective reached his hand up to John's face and gently wiped it away.

"Come on." He said softly to the smaller man. "Let's get you out of here."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sherlock let them inside the flat and immediately John went off to his room to go and change. Sherlock made his way to the kitchen and put the kettle on. By the time John had returned to the living room, wearing a pair of jeans, a shirt and an old jumper – one of his favourites – and a pair of slippers, Sherlock had made the coffee. He handed a mug to John who was sitting in his armchair, and sat down in his own chair opposite.

"Thank you." John said gratefully, giving Sherlock a small, weak smile.

"Anytime." Sherlock tried to smile brightly, for John's sake.

John shook his head. "No, I mean for everything."

"So did I."

John smiled at him again before bringing the mug in his hands to his lips and taking a sip. He recoiled, screwing his face up. "Sherlock, you put sugar in it."

Sherlock frowned. "I did?"

"Yes!" John put the mug down on the coffee table beside him and gave Sherlock a surprisingly stern glare. "How many times do I have to tell you? I don't take sugar in my coffee!"

Sherlock was taken slightly aback. "Sorry, I'll just make you another one–"

"What's the point, Sherlock?" John snapped, completely losing it. "You'll only get it wrong again!"

"John, calm down–"

"No I will not calm down! It's wrong! It's all wrong!" John's voice suddenly cracked, resulting in a choked sob. When he spoke next, his voice was quiet again. "Everything is _wrong_."

Sherlock looked at his friend with compassionate eyes. "Oh, John..."

John held his head in his hands. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm getting so upset over it – it's only coffee. I'm sorry."

Sherlock walked over to the sobbing man and crouched in front of him, resting his hands on John's knees. "We both know that's not why you're crying. You've been holding everything in all day – just let it out."

"I can't." John shook his head. "I can't do that to you."

"Yes you can. Talk to me, John. Cry your heart out all you want. I promise to listen."

John shook all over as another wave of fresh tears came. Sherlock waited patiently, resting his chin on his hands that were still on John's knees. John looked down at him and almost laughed.

"What is it?" Asked Sherlock.

"You look like a cat." John said, meekly.

"You look like a hedgehog." Sherlock returned playfully. He tilted his head at John, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Now, come on. Talk to me."

John sighed. "I just... I miss her, you know? Which is stupid because I never spent any time with her – I wasn't even close to her. I don't even _deserve_ to miss her, but for some reason I do and it hurts. I feel guilty. I should have tried to be there for her more. I shouldn't have turned my back on her. Maybe if I had made an effort to help her... she'd still be here..."

"She overdosed, John." Sherlock reminded him. "There's nothing you could have done."

"I could have been a better brother."

"Yeah, and she could have been a better sister. What's in the past is in the past. There's nothing more you can do. Yeah, things could have been done differently, but she's the one who ended her own life, and you shouldn't be blaming yourself for it. You don't deserve all this guilt you're making yourself feel. I won't allow you to."

"But Sherlock–"

"No, John." Sherlock insisted. "You are the most amazing, fantastic, kind man I have ever met. You deserve to treat yourself so much better, and if _you_ won't, then _I_ will. I care about you, John – more than I ever thought I could care about _anything._ You are my perfect fit. I'm incomplete without you. I need you to be with me at all times and I need you to be happy. I can't bear to see you unhappy, John."

Sherlock sat up so his head was no longer trapping his hands, and he reached up and cupped John's face between his bony fingers. He pulled the Doctor's face down to meet his own, having to kneel slightly to reach John, and he brought their lips together lightly.

John's eyes flew open wide and he almost pulled away – not from not wanting to kiss the Detective, because he did, but from shock – but the moment he heard Sherlock moan, almost whisper, gently into the innocent kiss, all of John's defences fell, and he realised he was kissing the Detective back.

Sherlock pulled away first. He was looking up at John, anxiously, biting his lip. "Sorry. Was that wrong of me?"

"Why would you even ask that?" John murmured softly, bringing Sherlock's lips back to meet his.

**I hope you all liked it!**

**I'll update when I get back!  
**

**See you all in a week's time :)  
**

**xoxo  
**


	10. Being Patient

**I'm back from Tenerife! It was lovely :) I had a great time :) Thank you all for _being patient_ (see what I did there?) with me for the updates :) I'm sure you'll all like this one, it's full of Johnlock fluffiness!**

**Enjoy!  
**

The way Sherlock gripped onto John's shirt when he kissed him was almost childlike in how innocent he was being. He wasn't clinging to John's jumper so tightly because he wanted to rip it off, but because he so desperately wanted to be as close as possible to his blonde doctor. His kiss wasn't daring, just soft and tender, and slightly timid. All of Sherlock's actions, John noticed, were slightly timid. The way his lips moved, barely parting. The way his fingers curled into John's jumper, then release slightly as is he was scared he had done something wrong. The way he would tremble slightly when he let out a quiet moan – almost a whimper – would almost suggest he was... nervous?

"Sherlock?" John pulled away slightly, whispering against the detective's lips. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock nodded. "Mm-hm."

"Are you sure? You seem a little... _coy_..."

"I'm fine." The Detective insisted.

At his words, John couldn't resist pressing his lips against Sherlock's again. He had only ever kissed women before in his life, the idea of kissing a man completely alien to him. He had never been attracted to another man before he met Sherlock, and even then it took him a while to realise his feelings towards the Detective were a little more that platonic. And here he was, kissing the tall, pale man, their lips fitting together with ease, and it didn't feel to alien to him anymore. It felt warm, and safe, and John felt a peculiar flutter in his chest that was sending his senses wild.

John stood and pulled Sherlock up with him. His natural instinct was to put his hands on Sherlock's hips, so he did, pulling the detective closer. He reached up and curled his hands in Sherlock's raven curls, pulling the taller man's lips down to meet his own again.

"John..." Sherlock said quietly before their lips touched.

John kissed him again, his lips melting against the taller man's with more determination this time.

"John..." Sherlock breathed between kisses.

John trailed kisses over Sherlock's jaw line and down his neck, his teeth grazing the hollow of the Detective's throat.

"John... please..."

The Doctor slid his hands over the Detective's shoulders, running them down his chest, stopping at his waist to possessively clutch at his sides. John wasn't in control of the low growl that escaped his lips.

"..._please_..." Almost pleading. "... John, _please_ stop..."

John froze instantly. He jerked away from Sherlock as if the other man had shocked him. "You... you want me to stop?"

Sherlock nodded, avoiding John's gaze. "Yes please."

John's face fell. "You... you don't like it when I kiss you?"

Sherlock looked up at John confused. "What? Of course I _like_ it."

"Then why did you ask me to stop?

Sherlock nervously bit his lip, seeming like a child again. "I... I don't think I want to say."

"Am... am I a bad kisser?" John asked, uncertainly.

"No, no, you were fine. You were great. Grand."

"So, what's the problem?"

Sherlock hesitated. "You'll laugh at me."

John frowned. "No I won't."

"Everyone else does."

"Sherlock, I promise I won't laugh at you. Just tell me."

Sherlock sighed, his gaze dropping back to his feet. "Fine. It's just that... well... I've never..." He sighed again, the next words coming out in a rush. "I've never done this before. Any of it. Happy now?"

John paused. He tilted his head at the Detective. "Is that all?"

"Don't act like it's not a big deal." Sherlock mumbled, still looking at his shoes.

"Sherlock, I've never done this with a man either, It's fine, okay?"

The taller man tilted his head backwards, exasperated, so that he was looking at the ceiling. "No, no, you don't get it."

John's eyebrows knitted together. "Don't get _what_?"

Sherlock sighed. "Please don't make me say it out loud."

"Well, you're going to _have_ to, because you've lost me."

Sherlock turned so that he wasn't facing John. He let out another sigh. "John... it's not just that I haven't done this with a man... I haven't done this at _all_... you know, _ever_."

And suddenly the penny dropped. "Oh..." John mumbled. "_Oh_..."

"Mm-hm." Sherlock replied curtly, still facing away from the blonde man.

"You're a virgin."

"Say it a little louder, John, I don't think Mrs Hudson heard you downstairs." Sherlock hissed, turning back to face his blonde Doctor.

"Alright, calm down." John said, placidly. "No need to be snappy."

"And now, you're repulsed by me, right? The great Sherlock Holmes, a virgin! Why don't you write a book on me? You can call it: _My name is John Watson, and I was Sherlock Holmes' first kiss_!"

"Sherlock, you're just winding yourself up."

"Or maybe _I_ should write a book? _Untouched... then John Watson came along_!"

"Sherlock..."

"Or maybe I should re-release that song: _And Then He Kissed me_!"

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted over the Detective's babbling "I DON'T CARE, OKAY?"

"AND ANOTHER THING – wait, _what?"_ Sherlock paused, frowning at the smaller man. "What did you say?"

"I said I don't care, Sherlock." John said gently, smiling.

"You... you _don't_?"

John laughed softly. He stepped towards Sherlock and took his hands in his. "Of course I don't care."

Sherlock frowned, bemused. "I'm... confused."

John smiled and led Sherlock over to the sofa, sitting them both down close beside each other. John still held Sherlock's hands tightly in his own. "Sherlock, you're new to this, so let me explain it to you. I like you."

"Of course you do, we're friends." He smiled. "You're my best friend."

John couldn't help but grin. "Yes, I know I am. You're my best friend too, but that's not what I meant when I said I like you. I mean, I like you _more_ than a best friend."

"What do you mean? What's more than a best friend?"

"What do you think?"

Sherlock frowned. "I... don't... know?"

"Okay." John said, trying to tackle this from a new angle. "What if I said I had feelings towards you."

"Right."

"What if I were to say these feelings were a little more than platonic?"

"Okay."

John sighed. "What if I said they were romantic?"

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're romantically interested in me?"

John smiled, suppressing a laugh. "You couldn't tell?"

Sherlock smiled shyly. "Was it obvious?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, the cuddling in bed, the hand holding, huddling under your coat, the kissing just now."

"Well, when you put it like that..."

John smiled. "So now you know how I feel about you." He brought one of Sherlock's hands to his lips, kissing his knuckles. "I need to know how you feel about me."

Sherlock looked at John, giving him the most innocent and honest look John had ever seen on the Detective's face. "I don't know."

John's face saddened. "Oh... well, if you don't feel the same way, that's okay..."

Sherlock gripped onto John's hands tighter. "No, no that's not what I meant... I don't think... you're going to have to bear with me; this is all completely new to me. I said I don't know, because I don't know how I feel. I don't know what my... _feelings_ are telling me."

"Well, explain them to me and I'll help you figure them out." Encouraged John.

"Well, okay don't laugh, but here it goes. I like being with you, it makes me happy. I _always_ want to be with you and I feel empty inside when I'm away from you for too long. When I see you my heart starts to race and my palms get sweaty. When I think of you, you cloud my mind to an irritating point where I can't even work on a case anymore. I kissed you earlier and it was your own fault because you lips were begging for it. They're always slightly parted and they look so soft, and I can't help but look at them when you speak, and all of the sudden I had the urge to press my own against them, and I couldn't help it. And it felt great. It was like nothing else I've ever experienced before. It was perfect." His face became solemn. "I can't cope with it when you're unhappy. Today was awful. Every time I looked over at you and you looked so sad... it was all I could do not to cry. I can't stand it when you're sad, John. It makes my heart clench and ache, and it's like I can feel your pain myself." He softly squeezed John's hands. "I would fetch you the sun and the moon just to see you smile. Making you happy is everything to me." He paused. "That's how I feel about you. What does that mean?"

John stared at Sherlock, unblinking. "Oh... Sherlock..." He sighed. "What do you think it means?"

"I have no idea. But I really want to kiss you again. Can I?"

"It means you have a romantic interest in me too. And that I'm the happiest man on Earth. And of course you can, don't even ask, you idiot."

"Thank you." Sherlock breathed before cupping John's face in his hands and kissing him.

John groaned and melted into the kiss, nibbling lightly on Sherlock's lower lip. Sherlock gasped and pulled away.

"Sorry." They both said to each other at the same time.

"Why are you sorry?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry for attacking you every time we kiss. I know you're not ready for it yet, and I need to take things slow. God, I must have terrified you so much earlier. I'll try and keep myself more in control when I'm around you– wait." John paused, frowning. "Why are _you_ sorry?"

"I'm sorry you have to be patient with me. I really have no idea what I'm doing. It must be like teaching a child. I'm sorry."

John smiled and softly stroked a hand over Sherlock's cheek. "Don't apologise. It's fine, really. We can take things slow."

"You really don't mind?"

"Of course I don't. The fact that I can officially call you mine now, is all that matters." John hesitated. "I can assume that, right? That we're together now?"

Sherlock smiled and turned his face into John's hand, kissing it. "John, I think I was _always_ yours anyway." He grinned. "As long as you don't run around the Yard tomorrow calling me your boyfriend like a teenage girl."

John laughed and leaned forward so that he was resting his forehead against Sherlock's, looking up into his eyes. "Promise. How does partner sound?"

Sherlock laughed. "Professional. A lot more grown up, indeed."

John smiled up at Sherlock, enjoying a moment of silence before speaking. "I'm going to kiss you again now. I'm going to take it really slow, and you just stop me when it gets too much for you, okay?"

"Okay. And I'll try not to panic."

John laughed. "Deal."

John took Sherlock's face in his hands, and moving slowly, reached up to kiss his Detective. He pressed his lips against Sherlock's gently, applying minimal pressure. He heard Sherlock sigh against his lips, happily, feeling the other man's hands clutching at his jumper again, and he knew that was Sherlock's way of letting him know it was okay to go further. He slid his hands down Sherlock's chest, resting them on his hips, clutching onto his sides, resulting in a delighted shiver from his Detective.

"Can I go further?" Whispered John against his partner's lips.

"Yes. Please. Yes." Sherlock murmured back.

John let out a low groan of delight and pressed his lips against Sherlock's with more determination. He parted his lips slightly, seeing if Sherlock would follow, which he did. They're lips fitted together even better this way, and John was able to kiss Sherlock more passionately. John's tongue traced Sherlock's lower lip, begging for entrance. Sherlock obliged and parted his lips more, giving John's tongue access. John traced his tongue around Sherlock's mouth tasting the Detective, deepening the kiss to mind-dizzying levels. He heard Sherlock moan softly into his mouth and his whole body set alight. He managed to keep himself from attacking his Detective, but only just about, his hands tightening on Sherlock's waist. The moment John felt Sherlock's tongue tentatively exploring his own mouth he almost lost his mind with desire, and he couldn't help the low, guttural moan that escaped his lips. In the end John was the one who had to pull away.

"I'm sorry." John said, panting slightly. "But if we carried on like that for much longer, I would have ended up attacking you again." He noticed the colour in Sherlock's cheeks, the way his hair was wild and ruffled and how kiss-swollen his lips were, and his heart completely melted. "You look gorgeous by the way."

Sherlock smiled, catching his breath. "I understand. And thank you. How did I do?"

"Amazingly."

"You look worn out." Sherlock noted.

"You look like an aroused teenager."

Sherlock tilted back his head and laughed. "Thanks."

John smiled softly and reached up, cupping Sherlock's face in his hands, bringing his gaze back to his own. "I want this to work." He whispered, almost desperately.

Sherlock looked at John softly. He leaned forward and gently kissed John's forehead. "It will." He whispered back.

**Sorry it was so long!**

**I hope you all liked it :)**

**I'll update as soon as I've updated all of my other stories :)  
**

**xoxo  
**


	11. A New Theory

**A new update for you all!**** I'm sorry its a bit long, and I'm going to warn you, the plot line might get a little complicated, so message me if you have trouble understanding it :)  
**

**But otherwise, enjoy!  
**

John and Sherlock were not secretive about their relationship. Of course, they weren't obvious about it, they didn't skip around the Scotland Yard holding hands, or have their tongues down each other's throats when out working, but they didn't deny that they were a couple either. They didn't go around telling every Tom, Dick, and Harry – however, when the suspicion was aroused and people finally worked up the courage to ask, both men openly admitted they were in a relationship.

They had been together for three weeks, and most people knew. Mrs Hudson looked like she might burst with delight. Molly looked like she was going to axe John. Lestrade had merely shrugged like he had guessed as much already. Donovan had called Sherlock a _freak_ again, resulting in her being scolded by Lestrade. Anderson made a prejudiced remark when he found out, leading to John punching him in the face. Several times.

They were different around each other now, when out in public. Their exchanged glances lasted longer, resulting in silly little smiles. When one was looking the other way, the other would be gazing longing at them. They stood closer, their hands brushing, occasionally. There was more physical contact, briefly touching each other's arms, their knees touching if they sat beside each other, and once when John was feeling quite adventurous, a hand brushing across the back of Sherlock's neck always went down well with the Detective.

At home, however, it was an entirely different story altogether. The moment the door closed behind them, one would always be pulling the other into a kiss. Sherlock was getting better with kissing, learning new techniques, and not getting scared off when John tried something new. John was patient with Sherlock to extreme levels, the need to keep his partner feeling secure and happy greater than the need in his trousers. The time would, of course, eventually come, but for now, John was just happy to be with Sherlock.

However, now was not the time for kissing. Right now, John and Sherlock were at a crime scene, investigating a case that they had been called in to look at by Lestrade. Another dead body lay before them. Another poisoning. Once again, no obvious signs of harm inflicted upon the victim, just a forced poisoning.

John was not finding it easy to cope with this murder. The victim had been a young girl – around fourteen years old. Practically a child. She had dark blue eyes and blonde hair, and she reminded John unnervingly of his deceased sister – just a younger version.

"Any leads?" Lestrade asked, looking at Sherlock.

"Same killer, obviously." Sherlock murmured, his gaze flickering over to John every few moments, trying to deduce what was wrong with him from the faintly queasy look on his face. "The person was forced to drink it, you can tell from the same way as last time – the fresh blood spatters on the victims shirt of the assailant, therefore proving the victim was trying to defend herself, obviously causing the pursuer some harm in the process."

Lestrade frowned at Sherlock. "Speaking of which, why _did_ you call off the DNA test of the blood on the other corpse? Don't look surprised, you knew I'd find out. We could have found the attacker by now if you'd have just left your nose out. This could have all been over."

"Hardly." Sherlock scoffed. "And I _didn't_ call off the DNA test. I simply did it myself. You really think I would trust your idiot forensic team with something so important as this?"

Lestrade glared at the Consulting Detective. "Alright, smart-arse, if you did the DNA test, what did you find?"

John glanced down at the dead girl on the ground again and almost heaved. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He mumbled and strode away.

Sherlock looked after John, frowning at the smaller man, peculiarly, as he walked back to the line of police cars at the scene of the crime, behind the yellow tape. Something in his mind whispered urgently, _go after him!_ But the more logical part of his brain knew he had a case to solve. He turned back to Lestrade. "The attacker who was seen running from the scene of the crime was called Monty Rush. No one special in particular. A middle aged man who spent most of his younger years training in gyms, pumping himself full of steroids only to have his Olympic dreams crushed when he wasn't deemed viable for partaking due to unfair misconduct. He ended up as a P.E. teacher. He lived a spectacularly dull life, not doing anything particularly illegal. He has no criminal records, no dodgy files – _nothing_."

Lestrade frowned. "So, if you know all this, why aren't we perusing him?"

"Because he's _dead_, Greg, keep up."

The Inspector blinked. "Wait, he's _dead_?"

"As a doornail. Molly called me in on it. He was found last week, dead in his apartment, hanging. He killed himself."

Lestrade groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand Sherlock – this doesn't fit in anywhere. Why would the killer murder someone for seemingly no reason, and then try to kill you afterwards by drowning you on the boat, then run off and kill himself? It doesn't _fit_!"

"That's because he plays no part in this case – well, not a big one at least."

Lestrade arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry?"

"The killer is not the Mastermind behind this case. Monty Rush was merely a hit-man."

"A hit-man? A hit man sent to kill innocent people and then try and to drown you on a yacht?"

Sherlock sighed, quickly losing his patience. "No, a hit-man sent to murder someone in order to lure me out to try and kill _me_."

"Kill _you_?"

"Yes, and when he failed, he committed suicide, most likely instructed so by the Mastermind. Whether or not he willingly took his own life from failing his mission or because he knew it was a nicer way to go that whatever the Mastermind had planned for him when he failed is still a mystery to me, but then again, I've only been aware of what's going on here for the past minute or so."

Lestrade said nothing for a few minutes. Finally he spoke. "So that's your theory? There is a super secret Mastermind behind this all who is sending hit-men out to kill innocent people in order to lure you out from 221B so that they can get the chance of killing you instead. And when they fail a mission they kill themselves? _That_ is your great theory?"

"Well, yes, obviously."

"That's a little pretentious isn't it? Even for you?"

"Problem?"

"You're not Mr Sex, Sherlock, people aren't _that_ obsessed with you."

"Moriarty was."

"Moriarty is dead."

"There are other lunatics out there, Greg."

Lestrade sighed and shook his head. "Unless you can prove it, Sherlock, I can't take your theory seriously. It's too ridiculous."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but as he did the sound of a gunshot overpowered him. The bullet missed him by mere centimetres, whizzing past his ear.

"GET DOWN!" Lestrade yelled pulling Sherlock to the ground.

Sherlock let the Inspector grapple him to the grass and shield him with his own body.

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted from the other side of the police tape, where he was too being pinned to the ground by other officers.

Sherlock looked up and saw the shooter. He was short and round-bellied, and was hiding himself quite badly amongst the tree line on the other side of the yard. The shadows were covering his face, but Sherlock could make out bushy red hair at the very least. The shooter turned and ran away into the trees.

"AFTER HIM!" Lestrade ordered his men, jumping to his feet.

"NO!" Sherlock shouted, standing. "LET HIM RUN!"

Lestrade looked at Sherlock, bemused. "What? _Why_?"

"Give him a few days. He will turn up dead, commuted suicide soon enough. The blood on the dead girl's shirt will match the shooters and you'll know he was the killer." Sherlock paused. "And you'll also know my theory was correct."

"SHERLOCK!" John yelled, slamming into the taller man.

John pulled Sherlock into his arms, not caring who was looking and pulled the Detective's face down to his own so that he could kiss him.

"John, I'm okay!" Sherlock tried to assure his lover in-between desperate kisses.

"You were almost shot!" John exclaimed, kissing him again, passionately.

Sherlock delicately pulled John off of him, and cupped his face in his hands, looking deeply into his Doctor's dark blue eyes. "John, look at me, I'm okay. I'm fine. Stop panicking."

"I'm sorry." John said quietly. "I just... I thought I was going to lose you again."

Sherlock looked at John sympathetically. "I'm not going anywhere, John, okay?" He reached down and gently kissed the tip of John's nose. "It's alright now."

John sighed, his legs wanting to give way, and he practically fell against Sherlock's chest. "I need a lie down. Take me home, Sherlock, please?"

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and buried his face in his hair, likewise not giving a damn about the audience watching them. "Of course, John. Of course."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sherlock was sat on the sofa, watching TV and correcting it as he went along, with John's head on his lap. It was unlike John to be sprawled across the sofa, feeling sorry for himself, but after seeing the dead girl today, he couldn't help it. The adverts came on and Sherlock muted the TV, loathing the _Go Compare_ advert, and looked down at his lover.

"John..." He purred the name softly, trying to be soothing. He ran a hand through John's soft hair. "Do you want to talk about it?"

John sighed and looked up at Sherlock. "About what?"

"About what it was that made you so upset at the crime scene today?"

John tried to keep his poker-face on. "You almost got shot. Of _course_ I was upset."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. I meant the dead girl. What was it about her that troubled you so much?"

John sighed again and looked away from Sherlock, his gaze drifting to the silent TV. "I don't want to talk about it. It's stupid. You'll think I'm stupid."

"No I won't."

"You will."

"Try me."

John bit his lip, hesitating. "She looked like Harry." He finally spoke. "Or at least, what she looked like when she was younger. The dark blonde hair, the blue eyes. Of course she has nothing to do with Harry, but it still... hurt. It made me think of her. It brought up some bad memories." John's voice cracked and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, pushing the palms of his hands against his eyes. "I'm sorry." He mumbled, embarrassed.

"For what?" Sherlock asked, gently, pulling John's hands away and brushing away his tears for him with his thumb. "For crying?"

"Yes."

"Don't be."

"I'm acting like a child, Sherlock."

"No you're not. You're acting like a grieving brother, and its fine."

John sat up and curled into Sherlock's side. "Can we not talk about it anymore, please? I feel stupid enough about it all as it is."

Sherlock put his arm around John and held him close. He kissed his hair and whispered, "Of course. What do you want to talk about instead?"

"Tell me about the case." John said quietly. "Have you come up with any new leads yet?"

Sherlock paused, hesitating. He could tell John about the criminal Mastermind who was sending out assassins hell-bent on killing him, and further upset his lover – and looking down at John's sad face, his cheeks still slightly damp with tears, Sherlock knew that wasn't an option. This was not John's burden to bear, and Sherlock didn't want to cause him any more distress. He wanted to protect his Soldier.

"Nope." Sherlock lied, feeling awful about it. "Not one. I am completely baffled."

John gave Sherlock an odd look. "Really? No theories at all?"

"Nothing."

"That's not like you."

Sherlock smiled and bowed his head so that he could tenderly kiss John's lips. "Perhaps it's because I have something much more important than solving cases on my mind these days?"

John bit his lip and smiled up at his Detective. "Are you saying that I'm more important to you than your cases?"

"John," Sherlock smiled, kissing him again. "You always have been."

**I hope you all liked it :)**

**Let me know your opinions if you want to :)  
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**Thank you muchly!  
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**xoxo  
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	12. Sick Sherlock And Sex Talks

**Here we are, with chapter 12! I hope you all like it :)**

**The title says it all, Sherlock is ill and the topic of sex is somehow - and quite embarrassingly - brought up. Cringing is guarendeed!**

**Enjoy!  
**

Sherlock's phone beeped and he groaned from where he lay on the sofa, pulling it out of his robe pocket. He had a text from Lestrade.

_You were right. The blood on the dead girl's shirt was the killers. – GL_

_I told you. What else was I right about? – SH_

_The murderer killed himself. He was found in his home, hanging, like Monty Rush. – GL_

_Thank you. So now do you believe me? That there is a Mastermind out there with the objective of killing me? - SH_

_Yes. – GL_

_Good. Now leave me alone. I feel miserable. – SH_

_What's wrong? – GL_

_I'm sick! – SH_

Sherlock growled and put his phone on the coffee table. He felt awful. His head was spinning, his temples pounding. His stomach was clenching and cramping, tying in knots. His throat was red raw and he could barely speak. But the worst part – the part that made him feel the most unpleasant – was his fever. He was burning up, sweat clinging to his entire body, rendering him unable to wear anything but his blue silk robe as he sprawled across the sofa, feeling pathetic.

John came through from the kitchen with a glass of cool water with ice cubes floating around in it, and a cool washcloth. He sat on the sofa and ran a hand through Sherlock's hair.

"Hello, love." John murmured softly.

"John..." Sherlock moaned miserably. "I feel horrible."

"I know you do, love, I know." John said, sympathetically. "Here, try to sit up and have some of your drink."

John put his arms around Sherlock's shoulders and helped him into a sitting position, putting a cushion behind him to prop him up with. He held the glass to Sherlock's lips and helped him to take a sip.

"Ow." Sherlock groaned unhappily as he swallowed. "Swallowing hurts."

"Poor little love." John sighed, placing a hand to Sherlock's head. He wouldn't normally call Sherlock pet names, but this was a special occasion. "You're burning up."

"I think I'm dying, John."

John laughed and dabbed the cool washcloth across Sherlock's forehead. "You're not dying, it's just the flu."

"I've never been sick before." Sherlock moaned. "I don't like it."

"Well, I'll look after you." John smiled, kissing his lover's forehead, feeling his burning skin beneath his lips.

Sherlock didn't like appearing weak, but he was feeling so rotten and John was being so nice to him, he couldn't help it. He leaned into John's body and buried his face in John's neck, letting out the loudest groan all morning. He was feeling so dreadful, a small part of him felt like crying.

John wrapped his arms around the slender man and soothingly rubbed his back. "Poor little love." He repeated. He hated seeing Sherlock so unwell, but a small part of him liked the fact that he was practically getting away with murder here, calling Sherlock pet names, and taking care of him.

"Thank you for looking after me." Sherlock mumbled, his voice muffled by John's jumper.

"Well, a Doctor's job is to look after his patients."

"What if I make you ill?"

"Then we can swap. You can play Doctor and I can be the patient. Kind of a role play sort of thing."

Sherlock laughed. "If I wasn't so sick, that comment would probably have gotten me all hot and bothered."

John smiled. "Yeah same. I'd feel bad getting a boner over you while you're so poorly."

Sherlock pulled away and looked at John oddly. "Does that happen often?"

John laughed and then paused, looking at Sherlock incredulously. "Wait... _what_?"

"Do you usually get erections over me?" Sherlock asked simply, not even looking embarrassed about it.

John blinked at Sherlock who was sitting there, looking at John with an innocent expression on his face. "Are... you've got to be kidding me, right? Are you seriously asking me that?"

"Yes."

"Do you realise what you are asking me, Sherlock?"

"Yes. You said you could get a 'boner' over me – a vulgar choice of words, but never mind – suggesting the thought of me arouses you, and I just wanted to confirm that."

John stared at him. "Right..."

"Well?" Sherlock prompted. "Do I arouse you?"

John had no idea what to say. Obviously the answer was yes, but he wasn't about to outright say it. "Uh... do _I_ arouse _you_?" He asked, slowly.

"I asked you first."

John hesitated.

"You're hesitating." Sherlock noted.

"I don't know how to respond."

"You're nervous."

"Well, yeah."

Sherlock looked at John softly with his sore, puffy eyes. "Just say what you're thinking."

John licked his lips anxiously. "Perhaps you should get some sleep. Your fever seems to be making you delirious..."

"John..." Sherlock managed to purr his lover's name, even with his painful throat. "Tell me what you're thinking."

John sighed and looked at Sherlock. "You really want to know?"

"Yes I really want to know."

"You want to know if you arouse me?"

"Yes."

"Sherlock, you are the most irritatingly, astoundingly, tantalisingly sensual being I have ever met. I don't know how you have not noticed how, uh... _excited_ I get around you. Do you honestly not wonder why I always sit with a pillow on my lap when we're together? Or how I have to excuse myself and run off to the bathroom to cool down when we get a bit carried away kissing? I'm trying to keep myself under control around you and it's becoming more and more difficult. One time I actually had to open the freezer and stand facing it for God knows how long until I had calmed down!"

Sherlock frowned at him. "Wait, when did you have to that?"

"The other night when you rested your head on my lap! I had to jump up so bloody quick – I was afraid I might have your eye out or something!"

Sherlock smiled his slow, teasing smile, looking more like himself than he had since he'd been ill. "You really want me, don't you?"

John glared at the Detective. "No shit, Sherlock."

"Okay." Sherlock nodded. "_Now_ I'm hot and bothered."

John huffed. "A first for the great Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock waved away John's comment with his hand. "Don't be silly, John, you _always_ have that effect on me."

John looked at Sherlock, slightly shocked. "I do?"

"Well, yes. Do you think me incapable of getting hard over you?"

John laughed. "So you can say 'getting hard' but I can't say 'boner'?"

"_Focus_, John."

John smiled. "Sorry. And no, I didn't think you incapable; I just thought you weren't ready to think about that stage of our relationship yet."

Sherlock sighed and put a hand on John's knee. "John, I am _always_ thinking about it. I'm not ready to do it just yet, but I'm okay talking about it." He paused. "I'm sorry you have to wait."

"Hey, hey, don't apologise." John said softly, expression gentle and kind as he pulled Sherlock into an embrace. "This is a big step – especially for you."

"But you've waited so long–"

"You're worth the wait."

"We've been together for two months, one week, three days, nine hours, twenty-two minutes and about thirteen seconds, you _must_ be getting bored of waiting for me."

John pulled away so that he could look at Sherlock. "You. Are. Worth. The. Wait." John reinforced, firmly, emphasising each word. He cupped Sherlock's face in his hands. "You are so precious to me."

Sherlock sniffed, his nose becoming stuffy. "I really want to kiss you." He mumbled, unhappily.

"What's stopping you?"

"I don't want to make you ill."

John smiled. "I think I'll risk it." And pressed his lips to Sherlock's.

**Told you it was nice and cringy!**

**I hope you all liked it - let me know what you thought :)  
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**Much love!  
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**xoxo  
**


	13. Languages Of Love

**Things are about to get very fluffy in here! Beleive it or not, but a chunk of this story was inspired by an Omegle Johnlock RP I did! So thank you Stranger (also known on fanfiction as Pankeiko) :)**

**Enjoy all!  
**

John was woken by a soft pair of lips pressing against his. He smiled and his eyelids fluttered open. Sherlock was propped above him on one elbow, smiling down at him, his free hand resting on John's chest, fingers curling into his pyjama shirt.

"Morning." Sherlock said, softly.

"Good morning." John placed his hand over Sherlock's. "To what do I owe this lovely awakening?"

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John's neck. "I'm happy this morning."

"Yeah, keep on doing that and _I'll_ be pretty happy this morning too."

Sherlock laughed against the skin of John's throat making him shudder. "Don't be rude, John."

"Sorry, but it's true." He put his hands on Sherlock's hips and pulled the other man's body down to meet his. "Go on, tell me then. Why are you so happy?"

Sherlock trailed kissed up John's neck, across his jaw line, finally meeting his lips. He kissed John, tender and affectionate. "I feel better."

John laughed and gently pushed Sherlock away a tad so he could look at him. "You feel well again?"

"I feel perfect." Sherlock grinned, leaning down to kiss John again.

However, John had other plans. He rolled Sherlock over, so that he was on top now, straddling Sherlock's hips. "_I_ am the Doctor here; I think _I_ shall be the one who decides whether you are healthy again or not."

Sherlock grinned. "Are you going to examine me, Doctor?"

"Oh, _yes_." John purred, loving how playful Sherlock was being this morning. He bowed his head and kissed Sherlock passionately, his lips caressing his lover's. He traced his tongue across the Detective's lower lip, grinning when Sherlock parted his lips for him. He pulled away looking at the man beneath him. "Oh no, I don't know if you are well enough yet, look at how kiss-swollen your lips are!"

"John, you are a child." Sherlock tried to sound irritated, but his massive smile and hand caressing John's cheek gave him away.

John leaned down and kissed Sherlock's collar bone, nibbling gently; resulting is a stifled gasp from Sherlock. He continued to trail kisses down his lover's bare chest, all smooth, porcelain skin and taught muscle, smiling to himself as Sherlock bit his lip, his back arching slightly.

"John..." Sherlock sighed, contently.

John sat up again, looking down at Sherlock, shaking his head. "See that? You're breathing is fast and you're all squirmy. _Definitely_ not a healthy boy."

"John, shut _up_!" Sherlock laughed, pulling John back down to meet his lips.

John let out a tiny whine as Sherlock suddenly pulled him back down, their lips crushing together again.

"Making strange animal noises." Sherlock murmured against John's lips. "Are you sure _you're_ not the one who is unwell, John?"

"I can't help it if you make me make strange noises."

Sherlock grinned and rolled them over again, so that he was on top this time, and he straddled John's hips, pinning the Doctor's arms above his head. "I wonder how many strange noises I could get from you. I've already gotten one, but perhaps if I were to do this..."

He bowed his head, brushing his cheek against John's, his lips finding John's ear and nibbling on the lobe lightly.

"Uhn..." John breathed out.

Sherlock laughed softly and whispered next to John's ear. "That's another one – and I'm not even sure that noise was _human_."

"Sherlock..." John warned. "I'm going to need a pillow over my crotch again in a minute if you're not careful."

Sherlock, pulled away laughing. "Ah, John, you're so excitable."

"You're straddling me in bed, barely dressed, nibbling on my earlobe, what do you _expect_?" He sat up, gently rolling Sherlock off him, and got out of bed, pulling his robe on. "I'm making breakfast, what do you want?"

"I'm not hungry." Sherlock looked up at John from where he was, sprawled across the bed sheets in his underwear, somewhat resembling a cat.

"Of course you're not, but I don't care. What do you want?"

"Nothing." Sherlock stretched and got up, pulling on his silk blue robe. He walked past John, kissing him on the cheek. "I'll make breakfast for you. You go to the bathroom and do something about that bulge in your pyjama bottoms."

"Hey, that was your fault!" John yelled after him, pulling his robe tighter around himself.

"Sorry, John, can't hear you, I'm wearing silk." He called back as he walked away, aiming for the kitchen.

John rolled his eyes and resigned himself to the bathroom, finishing off what Sherlock had started. He showered, taking his time, and dressed, padding down to the kitchen to find his Detective.

"Just so you know," John began as he entered the kitchen, "most of that bulge in my trousers was just morning wood anyway..." He trailed off, looking up and not finding Sherlock. "Sherlock?" And then he noticed it. Blood. Blood _everywhere._ Pooling on the floor and splattered on the kitchen walls. To his left, on the fridge, was a bloody hand print, with a large palm and long spindly fingers – unmistakably Sherlock's hand print. John went completely numb, his insides hollowed out. He felt panic rising in him in the form of a hysterical scream and the name "SHERLOCK!" ripped it's way past his lips, sounding raw and inhuman.

He was rewarded with someone speaking from behind him. "John?"

John pin-wheeled around and looked at the man in the doorway, covered head to toe in blood, tall and pale, and still beautiful. "Sherlock!" The Doctor breathed and ran to the other man, wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight.

Sherlock returned John's embrace, slightly confused. "Hello, John. Why were you screaming? I was just downstairs putting the rubbish out."

John pulled away and gestured to their blood-smeared surroundings. "Sherlock, the place is _covered_ in fresh blood!"

"I know. I was doing an experiment with some blood bags I took from Bart's. It went a little wrong when the blender got involved and I forgot to put on the lid..."

John opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "You bastard."

Sherlock drew back, surprised. "What?"

"You stupid _bastard_!" John practically screamed.

Sherlock held his hand in the air, defensively. "Sorry! I'll clean it up, okay?"

"It's not the mess I'm upset about, Sherlock! I thought something _terrible_ had happened to you!"

Sherlock frowned, looking at John. _Tense body. Clenched fists. Shaking. Angry expression, yet relief shining in his eyes. The slightest hint of tears clinging to his eyelashes._ Suddenly Sherlock understood. "Oh, God... John, I am so sorry... I didn't even _think_–"

"You _never_ think!" John snapped, having trouble keeping his voice down. "You have _no idea _what horrible thoughts were running through my head when I saw all this!"

Guilt washed over Sherlock like a great big tidal wave and his shoulders slacked, ashamed. "I'm sorry." He said again, weakly.

John held his furious stance for a few more moments before crumbling and rushing back to Sherlock's arms. He buried his face against Sherlock's chest and held him tightly. "Don't you _dare_ scare me like that ever again."

"I won't, I promise." Sherlock murmured, nuzzling his face into John's hair. "I'm so sorry."

"Can't you just give me one day where I don't have to fear for your life?"

This only made Sherlock's heart feel even heaver. He sighed. "You care so much, don't you?"

"Well of course I care." John mumbled, his voice muffled by Sherlock's robe. "I _love_ you."

Sherlock froze. "What did you just say?"

John went equally as rigid, pulling away slightly to look up at Sherlock. "...nothing..."

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't."

"You said you love me."

"No I didn't."

"Say it again."

John paused, blinking. "W... what?"

"Say it again." Sherlock demanded.

"What? I... _no_!"

"Please?"

"No!"

"I promise to say it back."

John's jaw dropped. "What?"

Sherlock cupped John's face in his hands. "Say it again, and I promise I'll say it back."

John's heart thundered against his chest. "R... really?"

"Really, _really_."

John hesitated. "I... I said I love you."

"Oh, God, I love you too, you idiot!" Sherlock breathed, his words coming out all in a rush, and he crushed his lips against John's.

John was in a daze, barely conscious as Sherlock showered him in loving kisses. "You love me? You really love me?"

"_So_ much." Sherlock whispered in between kisses. "I love you so much."

John was stunned. "Are you sure?" He asked dumbly, not being able to think of anything else to say.

Sherlock pulled away, resting his forehead lightly against John's, still holding his lover's face in his hands. "Of course I'm sure, you idiot! I _love_ you! How many times do I need to tell you that? How many different languages must I say it in before you believe me? I love you. Je t'aime. Te amo. Is breá liom tú. Ich liebe dich. Ego amare–"

John silenced Sherlock by bringing their lips back together. He pulled away to smile and murmur: "Well it's about time you said so."

**I told you it was stupidly fluffy!**

**Let me know your opinions :)  
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**Thanks again Pankeiko :)  
**

**Oh, and just so you know, an 'M' scene is coming up VERY soon - the first of many to come ;) I'll leave you with that knowledge...  
**

**MUCH LOVE!  
**

**xoxo  
**


	14. I'll Give You Anything

**Okay, my lovelies, this is where things start to get nice and heated. Yes, I am talking abou the begining of an 'M' scene that will be continued through to the next chapter - the first 'M' scene of many to come! I know, I've started writing smut, I've hit the PEAK of my writing career ;)**

**Okay, so you know the rules. You know how old enough you have to be to read these kind of chapters, but what you chose do to is your own choice, but make sure you are age appropriate, blah blah blah - sorry, I HAVE to say that -.-  
**

**Anyway, warnings of a sexual nature aside, enjoy!  
**

"I won't be long." John said, leaning down and kissing Sherlock. "I promise."

Sherlock smiled up at him from where he was lying on the sofa. "Okay."

"Do you want anything from the shop?"

"No, it's fine. All the things I want will be on the top shelves and you can't reach."

John grinned and nudged the end of the sofa with his knee, jostling the other man. "Shut your face." He picked up his keys and put on his coat. "I'll be back soon." He walked to the door, turned back and smiled. "I love you."

Sherlock cursed himself for the broad smile that burst onto his lips. "I love you too." He sat up and threw a cushion at John. "Now go."

John dodged the cushion and ducked out of the front door laughing. He trundled downstairs passing Mrs Hudson on the way.

"Morning, Mrs Hudson." John smiled at her.

"Hello, John, love."

He noticed the large, pear-shaped, brightly wrapped parcel she was holding. "Special birthday for someone?"

"Oh yes." She nodded. "Not that he deserves it, that bloody menace, shooting holes in my walls! Anyway, I'm just dropping this off–"

"Wait, wait, wait." John said, interrupting her. "What are you talking about?"

"Sherlock." Mrs Hudson said. "It's Sherlock's birthday today. He didn't tell you?"

John frowned, suddenly feeling awful for not knowing – even though that was ridiculous because Sherlock didn't even tell him. "No... no, he didn't actually."

"Oh, well he doesn't like people knowing his birthday – he doesn't like the fuss. Although I would have thought he'd have told you..."

"Yeah, me too..." John murmured, trailing off.

Mrs Hudson gave him a sympathetic look and put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Don't take it personally, it's Sherlock. He doesn't love you any the less."

John looked at her. "Oh... oh you know about that do you?"

"Dear, everyone does."

"It's that obvious?"

She smiled. "You don't have to be the world's only Consulting Detective to figure that one out."

John smiled at her. "I guess not. Look, I'm going to the supermarket, is there anything you want?"

"Not for me, dear, I'm fine."

"Is there anything you think Sherlock will want?"

"Just come back to him quickly and he will be fine."

John smiled. "Thanks." He turned to go, but stopped and turned back. "Wait, what did _you_ get him?"

"A violin case. His poor violin gets _covered_ in dust!"

John laughed. "Righto, I'm sure he'll love it – even if he won't admit it. I'll see you later."

"Bye, John, love."

John smiled at her once more before turning and leaving. He rushed out the front door, suddenly exploding into a panic that he couldn't for the life of him explain. He had forgotten Sherlock's birthday – no not forgotten, Sherlock hadn't told him, which was even more worrying. Why didn't Sherlock want him to know? Where they as close as John thought they were? Of course they were, they _loved_ each other! But still, it begged the question.

John sighed and shook his head, hailing a cab. He got in and asked the driver to take him to the supermarket. He did his weekly shop, constantly stopping, wondering if he should buy Sherlock something? A card? A box of chocolates? A birthday cake – no, wait, that last one was just _silly_.

John ended up, buying his normal shopping – milk, bread, eggs, tea, and jam – not buying anything for Sherlock. He needed to do something special for him, but he had no idea what. On his way outside, he passed a flower stand. A middle-aged woman was selling roses and John wouldn't have stopped to look at them if it wasn't for the colour. They were red, a deep red – almost black – and something in the back of his mind spiked, _Sherlock._

"Needing something for a special someone?" The woman asked.

"Sort of." John replied. "It's his birthday."

"His?" The woman asked. "It's a _him_?"

John looked at her oddly. "Yes, it's a _him_. Problem?"

"No." She shook her head. "No problem at all, I'm just used to my customers buying roses for women. Don't usually find many men who would appreciate the subtle beauty of a rose."

John smiled to himself. "Well, he isn't like most men."

"Then it sounds like he needs roses."

"Alright." John said, getting out his wallet. "How much for a bouquet?"

"They are fifty pound per stem."

John blinked at her. "I'm sorry." He said after a pause. "I... I thought you just said it was fifty pound per rose."

"I did."

"And you were kidding, right?"

"No."

"I can't afford fifty pound per rose."

"Isn't he worth it?"

John frowned at her. "Of course he is worth it! I just don't have expendable cash on me."

"How much to you have?"

"I don't know, enough for one, maybe."

The woman smiled. "Let's talk."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sherlock heard John come in and smiled. He hadn't moved since the Doctor had left. "You said you'd be back soon." He called out.

John walked into the living room, carrying the shopping in one hand, his other hand behind his back. "Sorry, I got side-tracked."

Sherlock grinned at him. "Oh yeah? By what?"

John walked into the room, setting the shopping down on the table and brought his hand round to his front, presenting Sherlock with a single, deep red rose. "By this."

A delicate pink flushed lightly across Sherlock's cheeks and he sat up. "You bought me a single red rose?"

John sat down beside Sherlock and handed him the rose. "It was supposed to be a romantic gesture."

Sherlock pressed the rose to his nose and inhaled its scent, pulling away smiling. "It is. _Very_ romantic. I love it, John."

"You don't like it, do you?"

"Of _course_ I like it, I just don't understand it."

John sighed. "You can stop pretending, I know, okay?"

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

"I know it's your birthday, okay? You can stop pretending that it's not. The rose was meant to be a gift, because I didn't know what else to get for you, and nothing seemed to suffice, and I didn't know what to do, and I couldn't find the right words, and–"

Sherlock silenced John's rambling with a long, passionate kiss. He pulled away slightly, his lips grazing John's as he spoke. "You're ranting, John."

John blinked. "Yes... well... I think it's a rant worthy situation. I can't believe you didn't tell me it was your birthday."

Sherlock ran a hand through John's hair. "I didn't want you to feel obliged to make a fuss over me."

John kissed Sherlock again, tenderly. "I wouldn't have done it because I felt I _had_ to. I'd have _wanted_ to. I love you. I want to spend every moment of every day for the rest of my life trying to show you that."

Sherlock grinned. "You want me for the rest of your life?"

"Well, yeah." John smiled. "Hence the reason why I wanted to buy you something nice for your birthday."

Sherlock shrugged lightly, his expression becoming slightly troubled. "I guess I'm not used to getting birthday presents. Birthdays weren't exactly much of a celebration in my house as I was growing up. I don't know how to receive presents and I don't know how to request them."

John felt the need to wipe that sad expression from his lover's face, and before he knew it, he was showering Sherlock's face with light, loving kisses, kissing his cheeks, lips, nose, jaw line, and eyelids. "Oh, _Sherlock_..." He murmured. "I promise you, that if you asked for anything from me for your birthday, no matter what it was, I would give it to you."

Sherlock pulled away slightly to look at John. "Really? You mean that?"

"Every last word." John murmured, leaning in to kiss the Detective's neck.

Sherlock's eyelid's fluttered slightly at John's touch. "Well... there was one thing I was going to ask for." He paused, hesitantly. "But I'm not sure you'd give it to me."

John pulled back and looked up at Sherlock, eyes soft and expression gentle. "Try me."

"Anything? Anything at _all_?"

"_Anything_." John confirmed. "I'll give you _anything_."

Sherlock let out a low moan and put his hands on John's shoulders, pushing him back on the sofa and lowered his own body over the smaller man's. Their lips met in a clash of lips, teeth and tongues. "I want_ you_." Sherlock whispered against John's lips.

"M... me?" John stuttered, caught off-guard.

"Yes, John, _you_." Sherlock purred.

A shudder rippled through John's body. "You really want this?"

"Yes."

"You think you're ready?"

"God yes."

"Oh... _God_." John practically whined and pulled Sherlock back to meet his lips for a slow, sensual, melting kiss.

Sherlock's body practically turned to jelly against John's, shuddering as John's hands ran down his back, stopping to grope his backside. John squeezed gently, smiling softly when the Detective let out a gasping moan.

"Don't hold back." Sherlock murmured next to John's ear. "Just because I'm a... well, you know... because I'm inexperienced. I want _all_ of you."

This made John pause. He sat up, gently bringing Sherlock with him, so that the taller man was straddling his hips as they say long-ways on the sofa. "Sherlock, we need to talk."

Sherlock looked at John, affectionately. "Problem?" He asked, softly.

"No, I just have a confession to make. And it's not an easy one."

"I'm listening." Sherlock leaned in and kissed the hollow of John's throat.

John trembled under Sherlock's touch and tried to concentrate. "Sherlock, I... I..."

"Yes?"

"I'm gay."

Sherlock pulled away and gave him an odd look. "Well, yes, I should hope so, seeing as you are my boyfriend and everything."

John shook his head. "No, no that's not what I meant." He sighed. "I meant, I knew I was gay before I was romantically involved with you – before I even _met_ you."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "So every time you said you weren't gay...?"

"I was lying."

"And all your girlfriends...?"

"Just cover ups."

"And that first night at Angelo's...?"

"I was chatting you up, yes."

A huge, silly grin burst on to Sherlock's face. "I knew it."

John gave him a warning look. "Sherlock, don't."

"You fancied me right from the start, I _knew_ it."

"Sherlock, this is not the time, nor the place."

Sherlock laughed. "Well, _you_ brought it up!"

"I was trying to tell you something."

"Oh yes?" Sherlock hummed, stealing a chaste kiss from John. "And what might that be?"

"The fact that I've done this before. You know... with a man..." John trailed off, a blush creeping up his neck.

Sherlock grinned at the sight of John squirming and blushing, beneath him. "Oh, we're learning all sorts of secrets today, aren't we? Well, come on then, spill."

"It was back in collage, with my roommate, Andy. The first time was a drunken mishap... more of a fumble in the dark. Then it turned into a thing. It ended when he got kicked out for spiking some girl's drink at a party on campus. We never spoke again – never really felt the need to. It was just sex..." John realised he was getting off the topic. "Look, what I'm trying to say is that I've done this before, okay?"

Sherlock smiled, biting back a laugh. "Well, okay then."

"Stop laughing."

"I swear to God I am trying."

John rolled his eyes "Let's put your mouth to better use, shall we?"

With that, John put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and drove him backwards, pushing him back down onto the sofa, lowering himself onto his Detective. Sherlock let out a startled little yelp that was cut off as John captured Sherlock's mouth in a kiss. John trailed kisses away from Sherlock's mouth, over his jaw line, and down his neck, sucking gently on the skin at the hollow of his throat. Sherlock gasped and shuddered, and before he even had a chance to react, John was already overwhelming his senses again, grinding his hips down against Sherlock's.

"Oh... _God_..." Sherlock moaned quietly.

"Sorry." John breathed against his neck. "Too much?"

"No_. God_ no."

"Oh, good." John murmured and bit down gently on the skin he'd just been sucking, eliciting another strangled moan from the writhing man beneath him.

Sherlock's hands were shaking as they grabbed at John's jumper. He ran his hands underneath, skimming them across the muscled torso beneath, before pulling them back and bringing them round to rest on John's backside, kneading gently. "You are so perfect." Sherlock groaned.

"God... _Sherlock_..." John gasped, the sensation of Sherlock's hands running over him instantly hardening him, and he couldn't help but grind his hips against Sherlock's again.

Sherlock's back arched, his hands on John tightening. He let out a tiny, desperate whine. "You... you're hard." He gasped.

John grinned and placed a passionate kiss upon Sherlock's already kiss-swollen lips. "Your fault." He murmured, his hands going to Sherlock's shirt buttons. He teasingly undid the buttons of the purple shirt he loved to see Sherlock wear so much, agonisingly slowly, and pulled it open, revealing Sherlock's gorgeous chest. He'd seen it so many times, but it still made his heart flutter.

He began to trail kisses down Sherlock's torso, his hands running down the Detective's sensitive sides. He licked his way back up to Sherlock's collarbone, sinking his teeth into his shoulder gently, feeling immensely smug when he heard Sherlock try to hold back another moan. His hands ran over Sherlock's hips, brushing against the front of his denim jeans, resting against his crotch. "You're calling _me_ hard? Bit of a hypocrite there, aren't we?" John purred, giving Sherlock's arousal a gentle squeezed.

"Holy... Jesus... _God_..." Sherlock panted. His hands fumbled with John's jumper, desperate to shed him of the blasted thing.

John clasped onto the Detective's still shaking hands. "Not here." He murmured, voice husky, eyes half lidded, lustfully. "Let's go to my room."

Sherlock gulped and nodded. "Okay."

**Yeah, so we all know where this is going!**

**This story will be the first smut I have ever written, so I hope it goes alright. Your opinions are very highly valued, so let me hear them :) If you don't like it, let me know so I can fix it. If you DO like it, then let me know, so I can carry on writing it :)  
**

**Thank you muchly!  
**

**xoxo  
**


	15. I love you Je t'aime Te amo

**Okay, so I have finally written my first smut-fic. I hope you're all happy!**

**Sorry this took so long to get done, but writing smut is actually quite difficult, but I hope you all like it.  
**

**And now I have to do the obligitory warnings: This chapter is an M scene, it's smutty and sexual, and it's not for younglings. Read at your own peril. Make sure you're age appropriate, blah blah blah. You can skip this chapter if you don't want to ready the sexual stuff but want to carry on with this story.  
**

**Anyway, enjoy the first of many sexy chapters to come :)  
**

John and Sherlock stumbled through John's bedroom door, their lips never parting. John kicked the door shut behind them, pushing Sherlock up against it. He had to keep tip-toeing up to keep his lips with Sherlock's, and he pressed his body against the taller man's, feeling him shudder against his every touch.

Sherlock's shirt was still undone, and John had the sudden need to see more of his skin. He pushed the purple shirt – God, he loved that shirt – off Sherlock's shoulders, moaning at seeing Sherlock's entire bare torso. He pinned Sherlock's arms against the door, and leaned in to kiss his collar bones, nipping at the skin slightly with his teeth.

"Oh... John..." Sherlock whispered.

Sherlock clutched at John's jumper, desperately trying to shed the Doctor from it, however John seemed hesitant.

"Um... Sherlock..." He murmured against the Detective's chest. "Could we turn the lights off first please?"

Sherlock looked down at John. "What?"

The Doctor's gaze dropped. "You know... so you don't have to see it..."

Sherlock looked at John with soft eyes. He put a hand under John's chin and pulled his face up to look at him. "I won't love you any less because of your scar, John."

"You shouldn't have to see it. It's disgusting."

"Let me see."

John sighed and just nodded. Sherlock took this as permission and took hold of John's jumper. He slowly pulled it up over the Doctor's head, releasing his arms, and tossed it aside. Standing in front of Sherlock for the first time bare-chested made John extremely self conscious, and his gaze dropped to the floor once more.

Sherlock looked at John's torso, soft skin pulled tight over toned muscles that he had no doubt obtained from his army days. Not too much, but just enough. His gaze drifted to the angry looking scar on John's shoulder and his heart thudded painfully, thinking about someone shooting at _his_ John. Without thinking, he bowed his head and tenderly kissed John's scar, resulting in a little whimper from his Doctor.

"You are _so_ perfect." Sherlock whispered against John's skin. "I love you. Je t'aime. Te amo..."

John let out a low, guttural groan and pressed into Sherlock, rolling his hips up, grinding them against the Detectives, the friction causing the younger man to quietly cry out. John's hands went to Sherlock's trouser front and his fingers fumbled to undo his zip. When he finally managed it, Sherlock let them fall and kicked them off while John worked on shucking off his own jeans.

Standing there, wearing nothing but their boxers, John pressed his body against Sherlock's; the feeling of skin touching skin was electrifying. John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and pulled him down for another kiss, a rougher one this time, his tongue probing the inside of the other man's mouth. John tiptoed up and took Sherlock's hands, pinning them against the wall beside his head and pressed harder against him, resulting in a shudder from his Detective.

John let go of one of Sherlock's hand and placed it on his lover's chest, feeling his heart hammering wildly against his ribcage. He trailed his hand down Sherlock's torso, running past his navel, fingertips brushing the hair just above his boxer waistband. Sherlock started to tremble.

John broke the kiss to whisper in Sherlock's ear. "Are you sure you want to do this? I can wait if you're not ready."

"John..." Sherlock panted. "Yes... I want this... please..."

John smiled and moved in to kiss Sherlock's neck, nibbling slightly. His hand travelled down over the front of Sherlock's boxers, palming the Detective's erection through the thin fabric. Sherlock practically whimpered against his touch. He arched his body into John, determined to have the other man pressed harder against him.

"John..." Sherlock moaned. "Please... more... please..."

John grinned against Sherlock's skin before biting down hard, sucking. There would be a mark there tomorrow. "Are you begging, Sherlock?" John breathed against his neck.

"Please, John..."

"What are you begging for, Sherlock?" John flicked his tongue against the Detective's newly-forming love bite. He gently squeezed Sherlock through his pants.

"You!" Sherlock cried out, back arching again. "John I want you! NOW!"

John captured Sherlock' mouth in a passionate kiss. "Clever boy. Good answer." He purred next to his lips, making Sherlock shudder.

Sherlock just whimpered again.

"Come lay with me." John said, taking the taller man by his hands and leading him over to the bed.

John sat them down on the edge of the bed. He cupped one hand around the back of the Detective's neck, and the other on his leg, soothingly running up and down the length of his thigh. He pulled the younger man in for a slow, melting, tender kiss.

John broke apart but kept their faces close. "I promise not to do anything you don't want me to."

Sherlock nodded. "Okay."

"And if you want me to stop at any time I promise I will, okay?"

"Yes, alright."

"You look nervous."

"I am."

John brushed his lips against Sherlock's. "I'll be gentle."

"Thank you."

"I need you to trust me."

"With my life."

"Good boy." John murmured, pulling him in for another soft kiss. "Very, _very_, good boy."

Sherlock groaned. "_John..._"

John gently guided Sherlock backwards so that his head was resting against the pillow, and crawled over him, lowering his body to his Detective's. Sherlock let out a quiet gasp that was cut short by John's lips pressing against his own. He trailed tender butter-fly kisses past Sherlock's jaw line, down his neck and over his chest. Sherlock let out a happy sigh, his eyelids fluttering closed.

John paused just above Sherlock's boxer waist-line. He looked up at the younger man. "May I?"

Sherlock barely managed to nod.

John paused, nerves finally getting to him now that he was about to see Sherlock naked for the first time. _Don't be a chicken_, something inside said to him, and with a shaky breath, he pulled the Detective's boxers down, tossing them aside, Sherlock's erection springing free, stretching up to his belly-button.

"Jesus..." John murmured.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, tone worried.

"You're... big."

"I am?"

"Well, yeah."

"Too big?"

John laughed. "There's no such thing."

The Doctor spread Sherlock's legs, propping his knees up so he could lie between them. He placed a chaste kiss to the Detective's inner thigh. "We'll start easy and work our way up. Tonight is all about you. How does that sound?"

"Mm-hm." Sherlock mumbled, biting his lip, back arching slightly.

"Good boy." John breathed against Sherlock's skin, making him shudder. He trailed kisses from his knee of his left leg, all the way up his inner thigh, getting as close to the area of Sherlock's body that needed attention the most without actually touching it, before changing direction and going back the way he had gone. And then he did the same to Sherlock's right leg. He gained what he had been angling for: Sherlock was moaning and writhing beneath him, his hands balling into the bed sheets. He wanted to work the Detective up – make him really want this. That way, he wouldn't be so nervous and he might relax into it a bit. He wanted Sherlock to be able to enjoy his first time at least.

"Problem?" John asked, breathing against Sherlock's achingly hard cock.

"John... you're _killing_ me..." Sherlock groaned.

John said nothing. Instead he bowed his head and licked Sherlock's shaft from base to tip, placing a feather-light kiss at the end.

Sherlock's hips bucked upwards and the loudest moan yet escaped his lips, his eyes fluttering closed. "John... please..."

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you?"

"I said _please._"

"What?"

"_Please_, John."

John somewhat grinned as he watched the Consulting Detective unravel in front of his eyes, begging for John's mouth. John teasingly licked Sherlock's tip, making him cry out, hips thrusting upwards again.

"Please!" Sherlock cried. "Please, please, John _please_! PLEASE!"

Sherlock pleading, how could John say no? He pressed another light kiss to the tip of Sherlock's cock before taking it into his mouth, his fist gently stroking the length he would never be able to take. He hummed with pleasure, working to give Sherlock the same. Sherlock had to shove a fist in his mouth to stop himself from screaming the whole house down. He didn't know what was harder to bear, the build up of tension and need for release or the way John's cheeks were hollowing around his length. It was absolutely amazing, yet achingly torturous at the same time, and a small part of Sherlock's brain was racing, wondering why he had waited so long – his entire life – to experience anything like this.

"John..." Sherlock moaned, muffled by his fist, his teeth biting down so hard he was drawing blood, his other hand knotting into John's hair.

John moaned on Sherlock's length, letting his vocal cords vibrate over him. He looked up at the detective with love and lust. He wanted him to release. He wanted to be the first to taste Sherlock's climax. His hands were still holding the Detective's thighs, rubbing gently, soothingly, letting John know that he was still there to stop things if he wanted him to – even though he doubted that would be the case.

Sherlock's hips where bucking uncontrollably, his back arching, his toes curling into the fabric of John's duvet. He had to remove his bloody and bruised fist from his mouth, and his other hand from John's hair, so that he could pound them against the mattress in desperation, the anticipation for his release becoming unbearable. His eyes were squeezed shut tightly, but tears were swimming behind them. He didn't know why the tears where there, and he didn't really care - he was just so _overwhelmed_. Everything was alarmingly heightened.

Just at the moment when he thought the fire was going to burn through him completely, he cried out - almost screaming - his whole body tensing, jerking up off the mattress, shuddering as he finally released into John's mouth. Almost instantly, he relaxed into the mattress, his entire body turning to jelly, and he felt as though he could finally breathe again.

John swallowed down everything Sherlock had to give to him, making sure that Sherlock's cock was at the back of his throat as he released. He kissed the detective's softening cock before moving back up to Sherlock, resting his head on the younger man's chest. "You're perfect." He whispered, running his fingers in small circles on his Detective's skin. "Look at you. You're so perfect. I love you, Sherlock."

"John." Sherlock murmured, somewhat in a daze." He wrapped his arms around John, love of his life, and held the smaller man to him as tight as he could. "I love you, John. I love you. Je t'aime. Te amo..."

John smiled and kissed Sherlock's chest. "Was that okay? I didn't hurt you?"

"John..." Sherlock breathed. "That... that was... _amazing_."

"I'm glad you think so."

Sherlock looked down at John's erection that was now dark and swollen at going untouched for so long. "Uh... want me to do something about that?"

Something about the way Sherlock said it made John laugh. "No, that's alright I can take care of that myself. Tonight is about you." His hands wandered somewhat lazily to his own cock.

Sherlock frowned and grasped John's wrists in his hands. "No." He said firmly.

John looked up at the Detective, confused. "Uh... Sherlock?"

"Don't you _dare_." Sherlock pushed John back against the bed and rolled on top of him, straddling his hips. "_My_ turn."

John shuddered beneath Sherlock with excitement. "Sherlock... you don't have to..."

"I _want_ to. Now hush."

Sherlock's hand wrapped around John's length, causing the Doctor to cry out sharply, biting his lip. He took this as a good sign. Sherlock had no experience, he had to act purely on instinct, so he made it up as he went along. He stroked John slowly from base to tip, then back down again – purely experimenting – seeing what worked for the Doctor. John's eyes fluttered shut as he let out a low moan, and Sherlock practically smirked. He stroked up again, this time his thumb circling John's tip, adding slight pressure.

John's back arched and a whimper escaped his lips. "Sherlock..." He panted. "Faster... please... faster..."

So naturally, Sherlock continued to stroke John agonisingly slowly, enjoying listening to John moan, seeing all the different noises he could get from the Doctor. He enjoyed watching John squirm beneath him, writhing and struggling, his hips bucking upwards, begging for more movement.

"Sherlock..." John's voice just a cracked whisper. "Please... faster... I need it..."

Sherlock smirked again and decided to put the good Doctor out of his misery. His stroking became faster and faster, until he was pumping him so fast his wrist was starting to cramp.

"Fuck!" John turned his head and cried into the pillow. "God! Oh God! _SHERLOCK!"_

John tensed and shuddered, finally releasing, hot, sticky mess covering his stomach and Sherlock's hand. He let out a shuddering gasp and his body melted into the mattress. Sherlock gently squeezed John's softening cock one last time before reaching over to the bedside table and grabbing the tissues. He wiped himself and John clean before lying down next to his Doctor, finding his way back into the older man's arms.

"How did I do?" Sherlock asked anxiously, looking up at his lover.

John looked down at Sherlock and smiled, kissing his forehead. "You were brilliant. Thank you."

Sherlock smiled and buried his face against John's chest. "How long before you can go again?"

John grinned at Sherlock. "You want to go again?"

Sherlock looked up at John and returned his grin. "My birthday isn't over yet."

John laughed and rolled them over so that he was on top of Sherlock again, straddling him once more. "So it isn't." He said, leaning down to kiss the Detective.

**Well, my writing career has just peaked lol!**

**I hope you all liked it, and it wasn't too explict for you or anything.  
**

**This is the first of many, so if you like it continue to read, if you don't, then skip these few chapters and I'll let you know when it's safe to read again.  
**

**Your opinions would be greatly appreciated so I know whether I should continue writing like this or not - thank you!  
**

**I'll update soon :)  
**

**xoxo  
**


	16. Wanting To Go Further

**IMPORTANT NEWS! I am going away on holiday tomorrow to Egypt for two weeks, therefore you wont have any Johnlock chapter updates for a fortnight, but I'll start updating as soon as I get back :) I'll miss you all tons, and I'll try to get to a laptop on holiday and see if I can to do some writing!  
**

**Thank you all for being such loyal readers, I really do love you all from the bottom of my heart :)  
**

**WARNING: More smut is in this chapter, so read with caution and be age appropriate pretty please! Thank you!  
**

**Now, enjoy the story!**

John had worried that he wouldn't be able to get it back up. He knew now that his previous thought had been ridiculous. All it had taken was a little bit of Sherlock's voice, his hands, his lips, and John was standing to full attention again in no time.

Sherlock was taking his time with John. He knew that John was the leader in tonight's events, but he was still Sherlock Holmes, and that meant that he still had the ferocious curiosity of a cat. And right now he was curious of John's body. After all he had never seen John naked before tonight. He was inspecting every inch of the Doctor's body, using his hands and his mouth, submitting it all to memory so that he would never forget the true beauty that was _John Hamish Watson_, managing to bring John's erection back in doing so.

The sexual stuff would come later, when he was done.

Right now, John was lying on his back, cock stretching up to his belly-button, aching and throbbing painfully, staring at the ceiling in somewhat of a daze. Sherlock was now inspecting the curves and angles of John's hips.

"Sherlock..." John groaned. "Can we have sex now? Please?"

"In a minute." Sherlock mumbled, kissing John's hip. "I'm almost finished."

John's back arched and he groaned. "Yeah, me too at this rate."

Sherlock laughed, his breath rolling over John's length. "Oh fine, spoil sport." He rolled off John, onto his back, and scooted up the bed so that his head was resting against the pillow.

"Finally!" John grinned and rolled on top of Sherlock, careful to keep their hips at a safe distance. He leaned down and kissed his Detective passionately. John could feel Sherlock smiling beneath his lips, and that made him smile too. He pulled away slightly and looked into his lover's eyes. "Do you want to do this? Because if you don't, that's okay, I can go and finish myself off in the bathroom."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I want this. I really do. I'm inexperienced, and I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'll probably be awful at it, but I want to try at least."

John smiled and bowed his head to kiss the tip of Sherlock's nose. "You'll do just fine. We'll carry on working our way up if you like, that seems to work for you. We can try something, and if you like it and you want to step it up a bit, we can, okay?"

Sherlock nodded. "Okay."

"Don't be nervous."

"I'm trying."

"You're in safe hands."

"I trust you."

John smiled. "Good."

The Doctor had a little something in mind to see if Sherlock liked it, but first he needed to get the Detective going a little. He bowed his head to kiss Sherlock, taking his time, their lips melting and dancing together. John's tongue slid past Sherlock's lips and probed the inside of the Detective's mouth, making him moan softly into the kiss.

John broke away and began to trail kisses south, over Sherlock's chin, down his beck, grazing over his collarbones and brushing down his torso. He moved his mouth to Sherlock's hips and began kissing and nipping at them, sometimes biting down hard, other times just nibbling. By the end of it, Sherlock had an array of love bites over his hips, and a dark throbbing cock that really needed seeing to.

"John..." Sherlock moaned, eyes closed, biting his lip. "I'm ready..."

"Mmm, I know." John purred, crawling over Sherlock's body, lowing himself against him.

The moment they were touching, skin against skin, hips colliding, erections brushing together, both men gasped, startled by the sudden overwhelming sensation.

"Oh, God." Sherlock breathed out in a tiny voice.

John had his eyes closed and was taking deep breaths. He was using every ounce of self-control he had to not start rutting Sherlock into the bed straight away. "Want me to carry on?" John asked, voice strangled.

"John, just fucking _do_ it!" Sherlock panted.

And that was all he needed to hear. John spread Sherlock's legs, lying comfortably on top of him, keeping their arousals crushed together. He propped himself up onto his elbows and bowed his head so their foreheads were touching. Then John started. He ground his hips down against Sherlock's, the friction to their cocks having a breath-taking effect on them both.

It didn't take long before John was violently rocking his hips into Sherlock's, rutting against him as fast as he could, causing a near unbearable friction and heat between them both. Sherlock was trembling and panting, pulling John down to him for rough kisses, his nails scraping down John's back. John buried his face in Sherlock's shoulder, grinding their desperate erections together with force.

"J-John... I'm going to–"

"–Me too–"

"–I can't last any–"

"–Then don't–"

"OH GOD!" Sherlock cried out, back arching up wards, toes curling, fingernails biting into John's skin. He tensed and shuddered, riding the orgasm out as it washed over him, took over his entire body.

John was straight behind him, coming over Sherlock's chest, body jerking, hips buckling. He was vaguely aware that he was calling out Sherlock's name, but he didn't care. His body suddenly turned to jelly and couldn't hold himself up anymore. He gently lowered himself onto Sherlock's body and lay there panting, listening to the other man's rapid breathing. Once Sherlock had the mind power and the strength to, he wrapped his arms around John and kissed his hair.

"How was that?" John asked, voice still shaky from his release.

"That was..." Sherlock shook his head. "God, I really don't know. Out of this world, I guess."

John smiled and kissed Sherlock's chest. "And we're only just getting started."

Sherlock smiled down at John. "Oh? It gets better does it?"

"Naturally. Plus, it _is_ still your birthday."

"So it is."

John looked up at Sherlock and grinned a big silly smile that made Sherlock laugh. "I love you."

"I love you too." He kissed John's forehead.

John's smile widened and he leaned up to kiss his Detective properly. When he pulled away he had a quizzical expression on his face. "So what do you think? You want to go further? It's fine if you don't want to, or if you're not up for it tonight, I'd understand."

Sherlock sighed and smiled at his Doctor. "John Watson, ever the compassionate, sweet man, who will always put others before himself."

John shrugged. "It's in my nature."

Sherlock pulled John's lips to meet his again for a tender kiss, finally breaking away with a smile. "John," he said, voice a low growl. "You can do _whatever you want_ to me."

John grinned at Sherlock. "Oh, God, I love you."

**I hope you all liked it :) When I get back I'll update A.S.A.P. with a probably very smutty chapter where John and Sherlock go something along the lines of 'all the way' - so stay tuned!**

**Let me know what you thought, so I can carry on with these kind of chapters if you like them :)  
**

**See you all in two weeks! Miss you! Bye!  
**

**xoxo  
**


	17. Going All The Way

**I'm back from Egypt :) Well, actually, I was back a week ago, but writing smut is _hard_! No pun intended... Okay, it was a little intended ;)**

**Anyway, here it is, the update you've all been waiting for :)  
**

**Warnings for explicit themes and sexy times!  
**

**When reading through this, I didn't know if I liked it or not, but I really hope all of you guys do :)  
**

**Enjoy!  
**

Two erections in one night were a pretty amazing feat, let alone three. Sherlock made John feel like he was twenty four years old again. Hell, he hadn't had a run like this since he was in uni. Sherlock, hadn't had a run like this _ever_, and John was amazed he was lasting so long. Then again, being 36 years old and never being touched in that way, all that sensitivity, it must have built up after all that time. God no wonder why Sherlock was always so wired all the time.

Sherlock had made it clear he had wanted to go all the way, and John had agreed with a big, silly grin on his face. Naturally, John being a Doctor, and a man of health, he had sent Sherlock off to the bathroom to sort himself out. Sex with a man wasn't like with a woman, and not for all the obvious reasons. First of all, Sherlock had to be completely 'cleared out' for John to enter him. Sherlock also had to thoroughly clean himself for John to be able to get intimate with that area of the Detective's body, therefore maintaining all the hygiene necessities.

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock had returned, sheepishly crawling back into bed with John, curling up next to him.

"Any Joy?" John asked, his lips brushing Sherlock's temple.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, trying to keep the quake of anticipation out of his voice. "I'm ready."

"Are you clean?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, John, I'm sparkling."

"Alright! Alright! Just making sure!" He grinned and rolled over on top of his Detective, smothering his face in gentle kisses. "I need to know these things before I start to get... _intimate_ with that area."

That statement alone sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine and straight to his hips. John felt Sherlock's arousal pressing into his hip and he grinned, grinding down onto him, capturing the Detective's mouth roughly in a passionate kiss. Sherlock shuddered and moaned into John's mouth, and by this point, just that managed to get him going. He rolled his hips against Sherlock's again so show him just how excited he was.

"John..." Sherlock pulled John close, his lips brushing the shell of the Doctor's ear. "I'm ready. I want you. _Now_."

John's cock practically twitched in excitement. "Jesus." He breathed out shakily. "Are you sure?"

"John, _now_."

John grinned. "With pleasure."

The Doctor began to trail gentle kisses down Sherlock's torso, his fingertips running down the Detective's sides, tracing each of his ribs, making Sherlock arch his back upwards into John's touch. John grinned at Sherlock's eagerness and pushed his hips back down into the mattress, resulting in another strangled groan from the man beneath him.

John continued travelling south over Sherlock's body. When he passed Sherlock's cock, he gave a teasing lick in passing, earning another groan being torn from Sherlock's lips. When he was lying between Sherlock's thighs, he sat himself up, and pushed Sherlock's legs in so that they were bent, knee's pointing to the ceiling, soles of his feet flat on the mattress. He dropped a light kiss on each of Sherlock's knees before reaching over him, pulling open the draw of the bedside table, and pulling out a little bottle of liquid and some square plastic wrappers.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at John.

"Lube." John explained. "To make things a little... smoother. And condoms for... well, obvious reasons."

Sherlock gulped. "Right."

"Relax. Everything will be a lot easier if you just remember to stay calm and not tense. Tensing will hurt us both."

Sherlock nodded. "I understand."

"If at any point it's hurting or you don't like it, you promise to tell me, don't you, so I'll know to stop, right?" John asked, knowing Sherlock would probably just let John continue because he knew that's what he would want.

"I promise."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

John smiled at Sherlock before looking down at the little bottle in his hand. He popped open the top and squeezed a generous amount of the liquid into his hands, covering them, completely. He used one slick hand to wrap around Sherlock's cock, and slowly began to stroke him.

Sherlock let out a soft moan, his eyelids fluttering shut. John used his other slick hand to palm Sherlock's balls and in return, Sherlock quietly moaned John's name. John slowly began to slide his hand from Sherlock's balls downwards, between his cleft. Sherlock took in a deep breath, knowing where John's hand was heading to.

"Relax." John cooed. "I'm not even there yet. Relax, it's alright, I promise."

Sherlock let out a shuddering breath. "I know. I know, sorry."

John smiled and dragged the thumb of his hand that was stroking Sherlock over his tip, his nail pressing into the slit slightly, and Sherlock seemed to let all of his inhibitions drift away as he melted back into the mattress.

"Good boy." John said, softly. He let his other hand slide down further until his fingers found what they were searching for.

Sherlock let out a small moan, letting John know it was okay to continue and John took a deep breath before he began to gently probe Sherlock's entrance with his finger, just pressing the tip of it in for now. Sherlock gasped.

"More?" John asked.

"More." Sherlock nodded.

John let out a sigh of relief and slowly began to push his finger inside of Sherlock. The detective let out a small whine of discomfort, his eyes snapping open to stare up at the ceiling.

John paused immediately. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

"Sherlock..."

"I'm not a china doll; I'm not going to break, John."

"I know, but–"

"Please?" Sherlock looked at him. "_Please_?"

John sighed and leaned forward to kiss Sherlock. The Detective's eyes drifted closed again and John began to slowly draw his finger from Sherlock, before pushing it back in again. He kept this up at a slow pace, simply stretching him for now, studying Sherlock's face. His eyes were closed and his lips were mashed into a hard line. John twisted his fingers slightly as he pulled out, grazing his fingertips upwards. If he could just find it...

"Oh, _God_!" Sherlock cried out, his hips arching upwards.

John smiled. There is was. He began to continue that action, fucking John with his finger, grazing over his prostate over and over again. Once Sherlock had practically turned into jelly at his touch, his cock leaking and throbbing as John slowly stroked it, John decided to add another finger.

"God! _John_!" Sherlock moaned, but it was one of pleasure.

"Do you like that?" John asked, huskily.

"Oh... oh, _yes_!" Sherlock groaned around the last word.

"Does it feel good?"

"_Yes_..." Sherlock moaned.

"Do you want more?"

"Yes! _God_, yes! _Please_, John."

John grinned. He was being torturous now, and he knew it. "Please, John, _what_?"

"More!"Sherlock cried out. "More, John! _Please_!"

"Good boy." John purred, adding a third finger.

Sherlock let out a shuddering breath, relaxing around John's fingers as they fucked him. John continued to hit him in that same sweet spot, touching him perfectly over and over again, and soon Sherlock's head was spinning.

"John." Sherlock breathed, licking his lips. "I want you."

"Hm?" John asked, mock-innocently.

"I _need_ you, John. _Now_."

"What do you need?"

"I need you to fuck me!" Sherlock yelled out. "_Now_!"

John smirked. "I didn't hear a please anywhere in there."

"_Please,_ John!" Sherlock began to beg. So much for never begging before in his life. He would have time to feel embarrassed by it later, but for now all he wanted was John. "Please, please, please – _God please_!"

God, Sherlock begging was enough to make John come on the spot. He looked down at his own cock that was stretching up towards his belly button, pre-come slicking the tip, dark purple and throbbing, _begging_ to be touched. He was all too suddenly aware of how much it hurt.

He pulled his fingers from Sherlock and wiped them on the bed-sheets. He ripped open the condom packet with his teeth and rolled it onto his cock with shaking hands. He was suddenly a little uneasy, feeling like he was a virgin and that this was his first time all over again.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head, he poured a liberal amount of lube into his hands and rubbed it gingerly over his cock. He looked at Sherlock, nervously.

"Are you ready?" John asked.

"Yes." Sherlock breathed, eyes still closed.

"Sure? It's a lot bigger that my fingers. It will hurt to begin with."

"I trust you."

"Right. Good." John nodded stiffly. He shuffled forward on his knees. Sherlock's legs were still in the same position they were in before, so it was easy to slot between them. He rested one hand on Sherlock's hip, and held onto his own cock with the other. He lined himself up with Sherlock's entrance and couldn't help hesitating. He looked at Sherlock's face and saw the man taking deep, steadying breaths. He was apprehensive, but ready. John began to press the tip inside.

Sherlock hissed in pain, his eyes squeezing shut tighter. His jaw clenched, lips pressed into a hard line.

John looked at him, worried. "Sh... Sherlock?"

Sherlock said nothing.

"Sherlock, do you want me to stop?"

Still nothing.

"Sherlock?"

The detective let out a small whine of hurt through gritted teeth. He opened his eyes, and stared intently at the ceiling, his eyelashes damp with unshed tears of pain.

John was suddenly horrified with himself. "God, Sherlock, if it hurts that much, I can't do this. I can't hurt you."

"I'm fine." Sherlock said quietly, through gritted teeth.

"Sherlock, I'm _hurting_ you, it's obvious."

"I'm _fine_."

"Sherlock, you promised that if I was hurting you, you'd tell me to stop."

Sherlock's eyes glistened as he looked at John. "And _you_ promised that you'd give me anything I wanted for my birthday."

"Sherlock..."

"Please?" Sherlock whispered. He reached up and cuffed his hands around the back of John's neck, tugging him down for a kiss. "Please?" He whispered into John's mouth. "_Please_?"

Sherlock's plea seemed to rip and mend John's heart all in one. He drew back and looked down at his cock, still painfully erect, just the tip inside of Sherlock. One of John's hands went to his own cock to help him guide himself in, the other soothingly stroking Sherlock's thigh.

Sherlock turned his head into the pillow as John pushed all the way in. It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time John's pelvis bumped against Sherlock's skin. John gasped at the sensation of being buried inside Sherlock. It was tight – _God,_ it was so tight – and _hot_. It took all of his restraint not to start fucking Sherlock into the mattress right then and there.

John leaned over and dropped a kiss to each of Sherlock's knees. "You alright?"

Sherlock nodded and reached up for John again. He pulled him down for a gentle kiss. "Please, John." He whispered. "Now, _please_."

"I love you." John murmured, kissing Sherlock deeply.

John stayed leaning over Sherlock, but his hands stretched back to lift Sherlock's legs. Sherlock understood what John was asking and he wrapped his legs around John's waist. Bracing his weight on his elbows either side of Sherlock on the mattress, lips still brushing over his Detective's as he murmured sweet nothings to the man beneath him, John slowly withdrew, then pushed back in.

Sherlock whimpered, his arms around John's Shoulders tightening. John pulled out again – torturously slowly – ignoring his body's screaming to go faster, and pushed back in again. He was burning to go faster, but he knew he had to make Sherlock comfortable first. He continued his slow thrusting into Sherlock, his hips rolling and changing angles, trying to find that particular spot again. He shifted his hips upwards, rolling down against Sherlock and–

"_Oh_!" Sherlock gasped, eyes snapping open.

John grinned, kissing Sherlock passionately as he rolled his hips against Sherlock, hitting that same spot over and over again, agonisingly slowly. Sherlock was beginning to writhe and squirm beneath John, his hips bucking upwards to meet John's. His eye's drifted closed again, his lips slightly parted, soft moans escaping them.

John forced himself to pace himself. This was Sherlock's first time and he wanted it to be as good for him as possible. Besides, with the way, Sherlock was squirming and moaning beneath him, John wasn't going to last very long if he got too carried away.

"_John_..." Sherlock moaned around his name. "More... I need... _uhn..._" His trail of thought wandered off as John hit his prostate again, shattering all coherent contemplation. John looked down at Sherlock beneath him, wriggling, moaning in pleasure, slightly glistening with sweat, biting his lip, and John let out a shuddering groan.

He began to pick up the pace, rolling his hips harder and faster against Sherlock, making sure he stayed at the right angle to keep pounding Sherlock in the right place. Sherlock let out a surprised gasp at the sudden pick up in pace, but a delighted smiled fluttered across his lips, being cut short by a shaky moan of ecstasy that was torn from his lips.

John bit his lip and groaned, deep and low in the back of his throat. He leaned down to kiss Sherlock again, capturing his mouth in a possessive kiss. Sherlock whimpered into John's mouth, and that only made John's thrusting more frantic. He realised that he was beginning to pound mercilessly into Sherlock, all previous plans about taking it slow banished.

He smashed his hips against Sherlock's, desperate to burry himself deeper in the man beneath him. Sherlock's nails began to dig into John's shoulder-blades, almost to the point of pain, but this only seemed to make the heat in John's abdomen burn hotter, and he was soon fucking Sherlock maddeningly urgently into the mattress.

"God... _John..._" Sherlock groaned into the kiss, biting down on John's lower lip.

John let out a shuddering breath. He wrapped his arms underneath Sherlock's back, his hands running up behind his shoulder-blades and locking over his shoulders so that her could pull Sherlock up to meet him, crushing their bodies together.

"_Jesus_... Sherlock..." John whined softly into his lover's mouth.

John's movements became erratic. His breathing quickened along with his frantic thrusting, wanting nothing more than to burry himself as deep as possible within the man beneath him. He kept the angle of his hips the same so that he was continuing to smash against Sherlock's prostate over and over again. He was no longer moaning, he was screaming, crying out in pleasure and frustration. No matter how much of Sherlock he had, it would never be enough.

Sherlock was panting and convulsing beneath John. With each new thrust from John, Sherlock let out another cry of pleasure, the feeling of being touched so perfectly, over and over again, relentlessly, was overwhelming. His hands scratched at John's back, desperately trying to pull him in closer, urgent to have more of him. His cock was a deep purple, throbbing and aching, desperate to be touched, and as if John could read his mind, he slipped one hand between them to wrap around Sherlock. He began to pump the Detective's erection, in long, hard, fast strokes, matching them in time with his thrusting. Sherlock began to near-scream in pleasure.

"_John_..." Sherlock murmured, the tone of his voice more of a plea than anything else. "I... I... Oh, _God_!"

"Sherlock..." John moaned, leaning in and deeply kissing him. "It's okay... just let go."

"I... I _ can't_!" He near-screamed again around the last word.

"Sherlock, let _go_..." John's sentence trailed off into a deep groan.

"Jesus, _John."_

"Fuck, _Sherlock._"

"I'm... I'm not going to last – _Ahh!"_

"_Uhn!_ Me neither!"

"Oh _God_! Let's–"

"_Yes!"_ John hissed, pounding into Sherlock as he reached his climax. He could feel it coming, any moment now. His balls tightened painfully and he was pushed to the edge, just suspended in mid air for a few moments, lost in compete euphoria. And then suddenly he released. He was pushed over the edge, coming in waves and waves of orgasm, each one more intense that the last. He kept thrusting into Sherlock, riding his orgasm out, his body shuddering, mouth crying out something that he wasn't even sure was English.

Sherlock was right behind him, with John pounding against his prostate, and his hand pumping him furiously, the Consulting Detective was pushed over the edge. He cried out, screaming John's name as the orgasm crashed through him, making his body convulse, his hips buck upwards, and his toes curl as he came undone. John was still rolling his hips into him as Sherlock rode his orgasm out, releasing all over his stomach. He pulled John down to him for a desperate kiss, his body still shuddering, breathing the words, _"I love you, I love you, I love you," _into John's mouth.

"Fuck!" John groaned as his exhausted limbs collapsed beneath him, and he fell against Sherlock's sticky torso. "_Fuck._" He murmured again, almost laughing, as he pulled his softening cock from the man beneath him, yanking off the condom and chucking it aside. "That was amazing. That was... _Jesus,_ that was amazing."

Sherlock said nothing, simply flopped back against the mattress, limbs feeling like jelly.

John leaned up and kissed Sherlock's jaw line. "How was it for you?"

He waited for a response but nothing came. He realised Sherlock was trembling beneath him. John sat up, worried and looked down at Sherlock, who was biting his lip, eyes squeezed shut, body shaking.

"Sherlock?" He asked, worriedly. "Are... are okay?"

A small sob broke through Sherlock's lips and John went cold inside.

"Oh, God..." John's head began to real. "It pushed you too hard, didn't I? You weren't ready. I hurt you, didn't I?" John began to panic, feeling absolutely disgusted with himself. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry, I'm–"

"John, stop." Sherlock said, quietly, opening his eyes. He looked at John, eyes swimming with tears. "I'm fine."

John blinked at him, distraught. "Then why are you crying?"

Sherlock reached out and pulled John to lie beside him. "Because I'm so happy." Sherlock smiled, pulling John in for a kiss. "I love you so much."

A hysterical laugh broke through John's lips. "Oh God... Sherlock... I thought... I thought I'd hurt you."

Sherlock laughed through a small sob, clutching John close to him. "You could never hurt me. You were amazing, John. You were perfect. Thank you so much."

John felt himself involuntarily welling up. He laughed quietly and buried his face into Sherlock's neck. "God, I love you so much."

"I love you too, John."

John smiled, closing his eyes against the tears that were threatening to fall. He curled up in Sherlock's arms, neither of them caring about the mess everywhere, and began to drift off.

Sherlock gently kissed John's forehead. "Thank you for the best birthday I've ever had."

**Let me know what you thought if you have the time to drop me a line :)**

**I really hope you all liked it!  
**

**Updates will resume as normal now that I'm back home, with more steamy scenes to come :P  
**

**Much love!  
**

**xoxo  
**


	18. A Distraction

**Hello!**

**I'm sorry! I'm so sorry dear readers for the delay in updates! Things havent been great here at the moment, Grandad has been quite ill for some time, and he's just been diagnosed with cancer, so as you can imagine I have barely felt like writing at all. It's very sad for everyone at home, and worrying about him monopolises my time, but life goes on, and I knew I would have to pick myself up and dust myself down at some point. And here I am, doing what I do best - writing. ****I'd like to thank you all for being so patient and for being such lovely, loyal readers to me.  
**

**Okay, sentimenal time over. It's time for me to warn you about the extreme kink, BAMF!John, and good old sexy-times that are in this update. You know the rules, only read if you are age appropriate, blah blah.  
**

**But more importantly, enjoy the story!  
**

John had introduced Sherlock to lots of new things in the time they'd known each other. Marmite, James Bond Movies, crap daytime television. But sex was by far the best. God sex was good. It almost rivalled solving murder cases. _Almost._

And it also came in as a good distraction to keep John off the scent of the case Sherlock was working on. Here was what he knew: There was an evil mastermind out to get him. They were sending out hit-men to kill innocent civilians to drive Sherlock out to investigate. Then the hit-men would try and kill Sherlock. If the killer failed to kill Sherlock, they would hang themselves out of fear of worse punishment from the 'mastermind'. Long story short, someone wanted Sherlock dead but was getting others to do the dirty work for him.

John could never know this. John would worry himself sick. He'd make himself ill. John could never know.

That was why that the one morning Sherlock had gone out to investigate another case on his own, he'd come home and ended up having more amazing sex with John.

He'd been lying in bed with John, early morning, curled up to him when Lestrade had texted.

_Sherlock, another dead body. Poisoned. – GL_

_I'm in bed. – SH_

_So? - GL_

_With John - SH_

_We think it's linked to the other murders. – GL_

_Obviously. – SH_

_Will you come? – GL_

_John doesn't like it when I leave him in bed. – SH_

_Please? It was a child. A child has been murdered, Sherlock. – GL_

_Oh fine. Where are you? – SH_

_Paddington station. – GL_

_Christ. Fine, give me half an hour. – SH_

_Are you bringing John? – GL_

_No. – SH_

_Have you told him yet? – GL_

_No. Let's keep it that way. - SH_

Sherlock put his phone aside and looked over at John. He was sleeping, curled up on his side, facing Sherlock. He looked younger like this. This John Watson hadn't seen the horrors of war. He hadn't had a bomb strapped to him. He hadn't almost been killed countless times. He hadn't seen Sherlock jump to his 'death'. This John was innocent and serene. It almost broke Sherlock's heart to leave him there.

He left John a note. _'Gone out to get some milk. I love you.'_

John would never have to know.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The case had not been pleasant. The dead child had been a little boy, aged seven. He was blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and looked far too much like a mini-version of John. Sherlock had made his deductions – saying that it was clearly linked to the other murders – almost been killed, as per usual, and watched as the hit-man scampered off in failure. He would be found tomorrow, hanging.

Sherlock hadn't returned home after that. He'd felt too ill from seeing the poisoned boy that he hadn't _wanted_ to return home. He lurched into an alleyway and was violently sick. John had been messaging him all day, and trying to call him, so in the end, Sherlock turned off his phone.

Sherlock finally returned home at about 7:30pm, once he was sure he was composed and calm again. All that was left now was facing John's wrath.

The moment Sherlock opened the door—

"Where have you been?!" John jumped up from his chair and strode over to Sherlock, glaring at him. "I've been worried _sick_!"

Sherlock looked at him with cool indifference. "I left you a note. I was out getting milk."

"It takes you twelve hours to get a pint of milk?"

"There was a long queue."

"Alright then, if you got the milk, where is it?"

Sherlock paused. "I... drank it all on the way home."

Now it was John's turn to hesitate. "You expect me to believe that it took you twelve hours to buy milk, and then you drank it all on the way home?"

Distract him. That was the plan. Distract John.

Sex.

"And another thing—" John began.

Sherlock silenced him with a crushing, lip-bruising kiss.

John pushed Sherlock away. "Sherlock! Christ, what's gotten into—"

Sherlock silenced him again with another kiss. He cupped John's crotch through his jeans, squeezing and stroking, feeling it go hard beneath his hand.

"Sherlock!" John pushed him away again. "I'm still mad at you! I'm not in the mood!"

"Your spectacular erection seems to disagree." Sherlock murmured, giving it another squeeze.

John bit his lip to stifle a small groan. "Sherlock, I'm warning you. If you don't stop, you'll regret it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and rubbed his palm against John's cock that was straining through two layers of clothing to meet him. "Oh no! I'm _so_ scared!"

"You _should _be."

Before Sherlock even had a chance to respond, John was twisting Sherlock's arm up and behind his back – an old army trick that never failed. Sherlock yelped in surprise – not from pain, John would never hurt Sherlock intentionally – and John took his opportunity to pull Sherlock back into a choke hold.

"W... What are you doing?" Sherlock tried to sound annoyed, but in real truth he was completely flustered and awfully aroused. His heart hammered against his ribcage, his cock already throbbing.

When John spoke next, his lips were pressed to the shell of Sherlock's ear. "I _told_ you that if you wouldn't behave you'd regret it. Now you'll have to be _punished_."

Sherlock whimpered. "What are you going to do to me... Captain?"

John purred and nibbled on Sherlock's earlobe. "Oh, I like that, Sherlock. I like that a _lot._ You can call me that _all night_."

"Yes, _Captain_."

John rubbed his achingly hard cock against Sherlock's arse through his trousers. "Mmm, Sherlock, you've been a _very_ bad boy. A very, _very_ bad boy."

Sherlock nodded frantically and pushed his backside eagerly back against John's prick. "Yes, Captain. I have. Punish me. _Please_."

"Is that what you want?" John licked the shell of Sherlock's ear.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. _God_ yes."

John growled the words against Sherlock's ear. "Bedroom. Now." He let go of Sherlock and gave his arse a hard slap. "_Hurry_."

Sherlock gasped in surprise and hurried off to their bedroom. John followed behind at a luxurious pace. When he reached the bedroom, he grinned to see Sherlock standing beside the bed, twitching with anticipation, cock achingly hard in his trousers.

"Come here." John barked.

Sherlock practically _scampered_ to John and stood obediently in front of him. "Yes, Captain?"

John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and pulled him down for a ruthless, relentless kiss. Sherlock's hands flew to John's belt buckle, fumbling to undo it, however John slapped his hands away. "Eager are we?"

"Yes." Sherlock breathed.

He reached around and rested his hands on Sherlock's arse. "Well aren't we a greedy little boy?" He gave him a hard squeeze.

Sherlock moaned and arched his back. "Yes. _God_ yes."

John smirked and let go, stepping away. "Strip."

Sherlock looked at him. "What?"

"You heard. Strip."

"But John—"

John folded his arms and gave Sherlock a firm look. "That was an _order_ Soldier."

Sherlock's jaw dropped. "Oh God." His fingers began to rip open his shirt buttons, hands shaking.

"Slower." John instructed in a low tone. "And look at me while you do it."

Sherlock looked up at John, panting heavily. "Oh..." His legs trembled. He locked eyes with John and began to slowly undo his shirt buttons, revealing his pale chest beneath. He let the shirt roll off his shoulders and drop to the floor.

"Beautiful, Sherlock." John purred, watching closely. "Keep going."

Sherlock's hands went to his belt buckle and he slowly undid it, letting his trousers fall to the floor. He kicked them aside and stood before John in his black boxers. He put his hands on his boxer waistband. "T-this to?"

John bit his lower lip, knowing what it did to Sherlock, and nodded. "Oh yes."

Sherlock whimpered and slowly pulled his boxers down, keeping his eyes locked on John, his erection springing free. He kicked them away and straightened up, standing naked in front of John. He'd been naked in front of John a dozen times before, but somehow this time he felt different. Vulnerable almost. He looked away and tried to cover himself with his hands.

"Hey..." John said gently. He walked over to Sherlock and pulled him into a tender kiss. "Don't hide from me. You are so gorgeous; I want to see all of you."

Sherlock melted into the kiss, hands falling away.

John pulled away slightly, breathing heavily. His cock was uncomfortable and desperate in his increasingly tight trousers. When he spoke his lips brushed against Sherlock's. "Get on the bed."

Sherlock made a soft, keening nose and nodded, backing up. His legs hit the back of the bed and he toppled backwards onto the mattress. "Oh!" He breathed out, exhilarated. He scooted back up to the pillows and propped himself up onto his elbows. "John..." He pleaded with his eyes. "N-now? Please?"

John smiled and undone his tie as he walked over to Sherlock. "Close your eyes and raise your arms."

Sherlock bit his lip and did as he was told, his eyelids fluttering closed and his arms flying up over his head. John took Sherlock's wrists and tied them together with his tie, then tied the ends of it to the headboard. He checked the knot: secure, not too tight, and easy to get out of in case of an emergency. Sherlock's eyes snapped open in surprise at the tie around his lips, and he looked up at John, eyes half-lidded with lust.

"Oh no." John murmured, brushing his fingertips down Sherlock's chest, watching as it flushed pink at his touch. "Looks like you're stuck."

"John..." Sherlock cooed his name, voice husky.

John picked another tie up off his bedside table that he had left there yesterday out of laziness, and used it to blindfold Sherlock. "Can you see anything?"

"No."

"Good. See you later." John walked over to the door.

"What?!" Sherlock tried to sit up, but the tie at his hands gave him very little movement to work with. "You can't leave me here tied up and blindfolded!"

"Yes I can." John said. "I told you you'd regret it, but you didn't listen. You even had the gull to mock me. This is your punishment."

Sherlock's jaw fell open. "But... but, John, I _need_ you."

John looked at Sherlock's cock, dark red and throbbing, stretching up to his belly-button. Yes, Sherlock needed him. But he'd have to wait. "Tough. We'll leave you here for a little while, shall we? I don't want to hear a _peep_ from you, Mister. If you're a good boy and don't make a sound, I might come back. If you're really good I may even let you come. If I catch you trying to get yourself off against the mattress I'll tie you down and leave you to put up with that erection all night. Do you understand me?"

Sherlock whimpered.

"Good boy." John nodded. "I'll see you later. Maybe."

John left the room. God that had been hard. He wanted to teach Sherlock a lesson, and have a little fun in the meantime, but leaving the room so impossibly hard had been torture. Of course he would go back in there in a little while, but for now he was left achingly hard and with no boyfriend to get off with. He could finish himself off, but then what would that leave Sherlock with? No he would have to wait too. He resisted the urge to palm his cock through his trousers and mashed his lips into a hard line. He leaned against the wall and slid down, sitting on the floor. He'd have to wait it out too.

Sherlock listened out for the sound of the door opening, of John coming back in, but after a couple of minutes it became quite apparent that John wasn't coming back. He let out a desperate whine before he remembered John's warning about making noise. He bit his lip to stifle a wanton moan. He tried to think about anything apart from the hot liquid that felt like it was pooling in his abdomen and the burning of his needy prick.

Time ticked on by and Sherlock squirmed against the mattress. He realised he was pathetically rutting his arse into the bed beneath him, thrusting his hips up into nothing. He let out a quiet, shaky moan, praying John wouldn't hear. His breathing had become erratic, just shallow panting. He tried to think of things that may soften his angry, swollen cock: Anderson in a bikini, Lestrade in stockings, Mycroft covered in only cake frosting... but everyone in his thoughts turned to John. John in a bikini didn't do much for him, but John in stockings, however... John covered in cake frosting... _only _cake frosting... _good God._ His cock started to leak, soaking his stomach in pre-come.

Sherlock gritted his teeth against a moan that wanted to rip free from his lips. He needed some friction and he needed it _now_. All of John's warnings evaded him as he rolled over and began to rut furiously against the bed sheets. It was good. It was _some_ sort of relief at the very least. But it wasn't enough.

He resisted the urge to growl and rolled onto his back again. Then an idea struck him. He hadn't done it since he was a teenager, and he wasn't quite sure if he was still flexible enough, but he _had_ to try. He tucked his knees up and pushed his arse up and curled his body over and in on himself. He propped himself up on his elbows and rolled back onto his shoulders, resting his weight there.

Autofellatio – not something he'd done since he was a horny teenager. He could feel the heat of his own cock near his face and he stretched his neck forward. The tip of his erection bumped against his lips and he almost groaned in relief. He flicked his tongue out and licked his tip, and his eyes practically rolled back into his head. He tasted musky and sour, but he didn't care. He continued to kiss and lick at his own head, but it wasn't enough. He tried to stretch further, but it just wasn't happening.

He let out a loud cry of frustration and let his body uncurl, flopping back against the mattress. "John!" he cried out, needy and desperate. "_John_!"

John heard his name being called and rushed into the room. He saw Sherlock squirming on the bed, skin flushed pink, cock dark purple and throbbing, stretching up to his belly-button, hair mussed and pre-come dripping from his lips. Lord, what had he been doing?

"Sherlock, it's only been twenty minutes. I told you not to make a sound." John said firmly, shutting the door behind him and walking over to him. "What part of my instructions did you _not_ understand?"

"I'm sorry!" Sherlock's voice was ragged. "I needed you! I need you now!"

"Have you been trying to get yourself off?"

"Yes." Sherlock's tone was one of guilt.

"What did you do? Why is there pre-come on your lips?"

"Autofellatio."

John's cock twitched at the thought of Sherlock sucking himself off. He'd have to get the Detective to show him some time. "Oh, Sherlock. You're a very _bad_ boy."

"I know." Sherlock panted.

John began to shuck off his clothing. "You'll be punished."

"I know. Punish me, John. _Please_."

John smiled. "I'm naked, Sherlock. Do you wish you could see me?"

"Yes! _God_ yes!"

"Well you'll have to wait. You've been a bad boy and you need to be taught a lesson."

John picked up Sherlock's riding crop from table and slowly walked over to Sherlock. He gently brushed the end up Sherlock's shaft Sherlock gasped, his jaw hanging open.

"Roll over." John demanded.

Sherlock rolled over and hissed as his painful erection was crushed between his body and the mattress.

"Easy." John warned. "Kneel, don't hurt yourself."

Sherlock drew his knees in beneath him so that he was kneeling. His arms stretched out in front of him, burning, but he didn't mind one bit. He was more concerned about getting off some time sooner rather than later.

"Are you ready to be punished, Soldier?" John purred.

"Yes." Sherlock breathed.

"Yes _what_?"

"Sir! Yes Sir! _Please_!"

John grinned and leaned over Sherlock. He took off his dog tags and fastened them around Sherlock's neck. "There's a good boy."

Sherlock whimpered.

John stood back and bit his lip in anticipation. This could go either way. Sherlock would either love it or hate it. He hesitated no longer, drew back the riding crop and brought it forward, slapping against Sherlock's bare arse.

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock groaned. "Oh God, again!"

John smiled and cracked the riding crop against Sherlock's backside again, making the Consulting Detective moan, his head tilting back. John made sure he hit hard enough to make the skin go red and sizzle a little, but not enough to seriously hurt his lover.

Ten minutes later, Sherlock's arse and the backs of his thighs were bright red. John had almost gone crazy with lust, his cock screaming at him for some attention. Sherlock was moaning and writhing before John into the bed sheets, raising his backside into the air as a hint for John to take him.

John didn't need any encouraging. He grabbed the lube from the nightstand and smothered his fingers in it.

"Two fingers." Sherlock practically begged. "Please, I need it."

John nodded even though Sherlock couldn't see it. He was beyond words now. He kneeled on the bed behind Sherlock and put one hand on the small of his back, the other sliding between his cleft. He found the point he was looking for and his finger began to tickle and massage Sherlock's puckered hole, teasing it open. When he felt comfortable enough, he began to slide his fingers gently inside. Sherlock was so ready for him it was almost like he was being drawn into Sherlock. Only a little further and—

"Oh God!" Sherlock cried out.

Prostate. John smiled despite himself. He began to slowly thrust his fingers inside and out of Sherlock, his fingertips just brushing and grazing his prostate. Sherlock moaned softly, pushing back onto John's fingers. John ran his spare hand up and down Sherlock's back soothingly, scissoring his fingers slightly, stretching Sherlock for him.

"John..." Sherlock's voice was broken and cracked. "I'm ready. I'm so ready_. Please_!"

John bowed his head and kissed the base of Sherlock's spine. "Well alright, since you've taken you punishment like such a _good_ boy." As he was saying all this, acting so calm and collected, he was actually frantically scrambling to get a condom on his cock and smother it with lube. He was thankful that Sherlock was still blind-folded.

"I've been so good!" Sherlock agreed breathlessly. "_Please_, Captain."

John put one hand on Sherlock's hip and used the other to line up his cock. "Ready?" He asked.

"John, just fucking _do_ it!"

John didn't need telling twice and neither did his cock. He groaned embarrassingly loudly as he pushed himself into Sherlock. It seemed like and age until the skin of his pelvis bumped against Sherlock's arse. Sherlock trembled and clenched around John and the good Doctor tipped his head back, gasping.

"Are... are y-you okay?" He panted, straining himself to check before he started fucking Sherlock into the mattress.

"Yes! Please! Now, Sir, _please_!"

John grinned like a dopey teenager and pulled out of Sherlock, pushing back in. Sherlock gasped, his head dropping between his outstretched arms, practically purring. John kept up an agonisingly slow pace, trying to seek out Sherlock's prostate again. When he found it Sherlock cried out and John grinned, picking up the pace.

He thrust into Sherlock, hitting that sweet spot over and over again. Sherlock clenched his muscles around John in the way that he knew the good Doctor liked, and was rewarded with the sound of John tipping back his head again, a long groan of ecstasy ripping from his lips. He leaned over and kissed Sherlock between his shoulder blades, making the Detective shudder.

"Good, Sherlock." John purred as he thrust into him. "Good boy."

He bowed his head and pressed his lips to Sherlock's pale, exposed neck, gently sinking his teeth into him, sucking hard. Sherlock groaned and pushed back hard onto John's prick as the Doctor gave him a love bite. When John pulled back he grinned at the purple mark that was blossoming on Sherlock's skin.

"Mine. So beautiful, and you're all _mine_." John growled as he began to pick up the pace, pounding into Sherlock.

"Yours! Only Yours! _God_!" Sherlock groaned.

"So fucking gorgeous, Sherlock."

"Faster, John. Harder. Please."

John could only oblige, slamming into Sherlock, hitting his prostate over and over, savouring every moan, cry and gasp that fell from the Detective's lips.

"John!" Sherlock panted. "Close! So close!"

John gasped, nodding, and reached around, wrapping his hand around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock whimpered and pressed his face into his arm. John started pumping Sherlock's prick in time with his own thrusting.

"_Sherlock_..." John moaned around his name. "Close. So close – _fuck_!"

"_John_..." Sherlock panted. "John _please._ I... I n-need to – _ahh_!"

"Close?"

"Yes."

"Lets—"

"_God_ yes!"

John pulled out for one last final time, and as he slammed into Sherlock, squeezing his cock, his other hand reached up and threaded through Sherlock's mussed hair. He pulled hard, making Sherlock's head tip backwards, a loud howl of pleasure ripping from his full pink lips as he came all over John's hand. His orgasm rode through him, making him clench around John as he came, buried deep inside Sherlock. He cried out, rendered immobile as he finally released into the Detective.

Sherlock was panting and trembling beneath John, his legs ready to give out. Poor thing, he'd learnt his lesson – and in the most fun of ways for both of them. John carefully pulled out and pulled off the condom, lazily chucking it aside. He wiped his hands on the bedspread and undid the blindfold, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's jaw. He untied his wrists from the headboard for him and Sherlock collapsed on the bed.

John lay beside him and pulled the shaking man into his arms. "Oh God... Oh shit... that was amazing. You okay, love? I wasn't too hard on you?"

Sherlock huffed out a laugh. "John, you were _torturous!_" He grinned up at him. "But I loved it. _Incredible._"

John beamed at him. "Really?"

"Oh yes... _Captain_."

A blush crept into John's cheeks. "Uh... yes... sorry about that. I got a little... carried away."

"Don't apologise." Sherlock pressed a kiss to John's chest. "I should call you it more often."

"Oh?" John quirked an eyebrow at him.

Sherlock nodded. "Uh-huh. _Hot_."

John tipped his head back and laughed. "Right. I'll be sure to make a note of that.

Sherlock smiled and looked at the dog tags around his neck, feeling the cool metal against his sweaty, sticky skin. His smile faltered somewhat. "I suppose you'll be wanting these back then...?"

John thought he heard a trace of doubt in Sherlock's voice and he looked down at him, surprised to see him suddenly looking so vulnerable. "No." He shook his head. "Not at all. I meant what I said. You are mine. I love you."

Sherlock looked up at John and smiled. "And I am yours. Always."

John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and pulled him into a tender kiss. "Good boy." He murmured against his lips. "And did you learn you lesson?"

"Oh yes." Sherlock grinned. "Doesn't mean I won't be naughty again though."

**Jeez, sorry about the length of that update!**

**I hope everyone liked it, and I will update asap.  
**

**Again, thank you so much for being such amazing readers to me. Without you and your constant support, there is no story, so I thank you. I absolutely love and adore each and every single one of you :)  
**

**Thank you.  
**

**xoxo  
**


	19. Explosion

**Hello Loyal Little Sparrows, thank you for being patient for this update!**

**No warnings apply for this chapter apart from there's a cliff hanger at the end...**

**Much love to you all, enjoy the story!**

"Sherlock! Up! Wake up!"

"Uh?" Sherlock mumbled, face mashed into the pillow.

John poked him in the side. "Get _up_!"

"No…"

"We have a case."

"I. Don't. Care."

"You always care about a case." John prodded him again. "Come on, it's another murder. A poisoning again."

Sherlock sat bolt upright. "Wait, what?"

"Lestrade called me. There's been another poisoning. Get up."

Sherlock blinked. "I… don't understand…why would he call you and not me…?"

"He said he couldn't get through to you." John tossed a pile of clothes at him. "Come on. Up."

John bent down and kissed Sherlock on the forehead, and then left him to get dressed. When he was gone he snatched up his phone. Five missed calls from Lestrade. He quickly called him back, putting him on speakerphone so he could get dressed.

"Hello?" Lestrade answered.

"You're a bloody idiot, Lestrade!" Sherlock hissed.

"What? What have I done now?"

"You told John about the case!"

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't answer your phone!"

"I was _asleep_!"

"Yeah and I have a dead body to be dealt with. We need you to come out so we can try and catch the next hit-man when they make their move. Maybe with a bit of persuasion they'll lead us to their Mastermind."

"There was no need to get John involved in this!" Sherlock snapped. "It's too dangerous for him!"

Lestrade sighed. "Sherlock, he was a soldier."

"That _doesn't_ make him invincible."

"You still had no right to involve him!"

"I didn't tell him about the hit-men or anything."

"Obviously."

"He'll be fine, Sherlock."

"If anything happens to him, on your head be it." Sherlock muttered and hung up. He looked down at himself, dressed in suit trousers and a tight blue shirt. He looked down at his feet and smiled. He was wearing John's socks. They were The Simpsons, but Sherlock didn't know which character exactly. He liked them.

He ran downstairs and was presented with a cup of tea and a slice of toast which he turned down and fed to John instead. John grinned and licked the butter off Sherlock's fingers before tossing his shoes to him.

Sherlock stood up. "Ready."

John nodded. "Great, let's go."

"Uh…" Sherlock swallowed. "Maybe you should stay here?"

John frowned. "Why would I stay here?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm just saying that it might be boring."

John frowned. "Since when is a crime scene boring?"

"Well for me, never. But for you…"

"Well, I'm coming with you. Now _go_."

On a split-second-decision, Sherlock tried to kiss John, but John pushed him away. "Not today. Come on, go."

Sherlock sighed. For once, sex would not distract John. And that was very bad.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sherlock crouched by the dead body. He was an elderly man, around in his nighties, lying dead in an alleyway. The killer had clearly struck the man over the head with his own walking stick, dragged him out into the alleyway and then administered the poison. John looked faintly horrified.

Sherlock took John's hand and squeezed gently. He kept him close and never out of sight, eyes darting around, looking for the next hit-man, waiting for them to strike.

"Sherlock?" John asked gently, hands curling around Sherlock's wrists. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock slowly drew his eyes to John. "What?"

"You." John rubbed circles against Sherlock's inner wrists with his thumbs. "You're all tense."

Sherlock gave him a tight smile. "Am I?"

John nodded. "It's like you're waiting for something."

"Just always on the lookout for danger." He smiled at him.

John smiled back and tiptoed up to press a kiss to his jaw line. "You work too hard."

"The curse of being the world's only Consulting Detective."

John smiled, but it faltered a little. "Can... can you hear something?"

Sherlock frowned. "Like what?"

"Like… a ticking sound."

Sherlock paused and listened closely. His eyes widened in realisation. "John! Quick! We have to get away from here!"

And that was the moment when the alleyway caved in on itself as the bomb exploded.

**I hope you all liked it :)**

**Just a quick note, I am on AO3 now, my name on there is Sabrina_Sparrow :) Don't worry, I am NEVER leaving fanfiction, I just wanted to spread to some other writing websites as well at this one. I have a Johnlock teen!lock story on there if you want to take a look :)**

**Thanks again :)**

**xoxo**


	20. The Horrible Truth

**At the persistent requests of MANY of you, here is an update!**

**Enjoy!**

Sherlock groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. The only thing he could register was pain. Pain and a strong, solid body lying next to him. He groaned loudly and he felt the body next to him jump to life. They immediately stood up.

"Sherlock? Sherlock?"

Sherlock groaned again and looked around them; quickly realising he was in a hospital room. The bed he was lying in did nothing to ease the pain he was in. His eyes danced in and out of focus as he tried to remember who the man leaning over him, holding onto his shoulders was.

Sherlock's eyes widened. "John!"

"Sherlock!"

And then suddenly Sherlock was engulfed in a huge hug by his love. Sherlock buried his face in John's chest, pulling him to sit with him on the bed.

"You idiot! You bloody idiot!" John sounded like he was crying.

"John, it's okay. It's alright." Sherlock soothed, tenderly kissing his neck. It was all coming back to him now. There had been an explosion in the alleyway. Sherlock had shielded John with his own body, and it now looked that he'd come out of it worse for wear. John however looked relatively unscathed, much to his delight.

"No it's not! It's not okay! You can't just do that! You can't risk your life to save me!" John said, fiercely, not letting go of Sherlock.

"You would have done the same for me."

"That doesn't count. My life isn't as important as yours."

Sherlock tensed and pulled John against him tighter, no matter how much pain it caused him. "Don't say that."

"I thought you weren't going to wake up." John said, miserably.

Sherlock swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Don't be so silly. I would never kick the bucket before finishing a case. How else would I get to gloat to everyone?"

John laughed softly and pulled away to look at Sherlock. "Thank you for saving my life." He pulled him into a gentle kiss.

There was a knock at the door that made them both jump. Lestrade limped in on crutches. He must have been caught up quite badly in the explosion too. "Sherlock! You're awake!"

Sherlock scowled at him for interrupting his and John's moment alone. "Obviously."

"How are you feeling?"

"I _was_ feeling fine. Now I'm irritable. Like I want to kick someone in the face. Hard."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Alright, I get the point. I just wanted to make sure that you were alive. If you get killed that sick bastard wins. We'll never find him."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he glared at Lestrade. Lestrade's eyebrows shot up in realisation, suddenly remembering John wasn't supposed to know about any of this.

John looked between them. "Wait… what?"

"Goodbye, Greg." Sherlock said tightly.

Lestrade nodded, shot Sherlock an apologetic look, and hobbled out of the door, closing it behind him.

John looked at Sherlock who was trying to appear nonchalant. "Sherlock, what was he talking about?"

Sherlock shrugged and looked away. "I have no idea."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not!"

"Sherlock."

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's really none of your business."

John frowned at him. "Greg just mentioned that someone was trying to kill you, and you seem to know something about it. You're my boyfriend, of _course_ this is my business."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed out a sigh. "Stop being so melodramatic. I'm alive, aren't I? Isn't that all that counts?"

"Not if there is someone out there trying to pick you off, no!" John stood up and looked down at Sherlock with an irritated expression. "Tell me. Now."

"John, I—"

"_Now!"_

Sherlock was about to argue, but he looked up at John and upon seeing his black expression, he decided against it. He sighed. "There's someone out to get me. An evil mastermind or something of that description. They're sending out hit-men to kill innocent civilians to try and drive me out to investigate. Then when I show up at the scene of the crime, the hit-men then try and kill me. All have failed so far and thus hung themselves out of fear of worse punishment from the 'mastermind'. Today was another attempt at finishing me. The hitman will be reported found dead, hanging in their apartment any minute now."

John realised he'd been holding his breath. He let it out slowly and tried to retain his composure. "So you're telling me, long story short, that someone wants you dead but is getting others to do the dirty work for them?"

"Pretty much."

"And you chose not to tell me, because…?"

"Because it would be safer for you not to know."

John could feel him temper rising. "Sherlock, I'm an ex-soldier! I can handle myself!"

"I didn't want to risk you getting killed!" Sherlock hissed back.

"Oh, but it's okay if you get _yourself _killed?!" John suddenly exploded. "You're a fucking idiot, Sherlock!"

Sherlock gritted his teeth. "I was trying to protect you!"

"I don't _need_ your protection!" Suddenly a though occurred to him. "Wait a minute, all those times you kept disappearing and keeping me away from cases, you were really involved in _this_ weren't you?!"

"John, don't be—"

"DON'T LIE TO ME!"

"YES!" Sherlock shouted back. "YES! I WAS SECRETLY TRYING TO SOLVE THE CASE ON MY OWN! HAPPY NOW?!"

John's jaw clenched. "AND YOU USED SEX WITH ME AS A DEVIANT?"

"I NEEDED TO DISTRACT YOU FROM WHAT WAS GOING ON!"

For a horrible moment, John looked like he might cry. "SO IT NEVER MEANT ANYTHING TO YOU? SLEEPING WITH ME? BEING INTIMATE WITH ME? I WAS JUST YOUR PLAYTHING FOR WHEN YOU WEREN'T BUSY WITH THIS STUPID _CASE_?"

Sherlock hands tugged as his hair in frustration, his eyes squeezing shut. He was only trying to protect John, but somehow it had all blown up in his face. He was going to kill Lestrade for this. "JOHN, STOP IT! JUST FUCKING STOP! YOU KNOW THAT'S NOT THE TRUTH! I WAS JUST TRYING TO KEEP YOU SAFE! I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO GET HURT!"

John swallowed down the lump in his throat. When he spoke next, it was barely above a whisper. "Yeah, well you hurt me anyway."

Sherlock opened his eyed to see tears rolling down John's cheeks. His heart shattered instantly. "John… please… don't cry…"

"I need to be away from you for a while." John said, looking away.

"John, please. I'm sorry, I should have told you. I love you and you love me. That's all that really matters here."

John sighed. "I don't know, Sherlock."

Sherlock paled. "You… you don't know if you love me?"

John sighed and covered his face in his hands. "Of course I _love_ you. I just… I just need to get out of here. I'm sorry." He turned on his heel and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

"John!" Sherlock called back. He wanted to run after him, but the amount of tubes and wires stuck to him were stopping him from going anywhere.

John marched down the hospital corridors and burst outside, sucking in a huge gulp of fresh air. God, he had needed that. He took a step forward and looked around himself helplessly, waiting for the answer to all of his problems to fall right out of the sky.

He heard movement behind him and whirled round, expecting it to be Sherlock, about to yell at him to go and lie back down. Instead he was greeted with a flash of blue eyes and blond hair. His eyes widened at the sight of her. "God, no…"

"Hello, John. Goodnight, John." She said before smashing a crowbar over his head.

John fell to the floor unconscious. The woman looked to the two men behind her. "Put him in the trunk."

**Bet you can't guess who the woman with the crowbar is... ;)**

**xoxo**


	21. A Spot Of Tea And Torture

**Hello my darling Little Sparrows!**

**I'm so sorry for the delay in updating! You know how busy the Christmas period can be - plus I had a big script to write for uni, which was HELL. But nevertheless, I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year! Enjoy this chapter! Updates should resume as normal from now on!**

**Just some personal updates, the blog (it's on my profile page) is still going strong - and it's even had a makeover! - so take a peek and follow me if you want. I'm still on twitter, Starkid_Sparrow, check me out if you get the time. Tumblr is still going, my URL is the same as before: tangled-to-perfection, and I have a Sabrina Sparrow tag on there, so feel free to have a mooch around or add things to there. AND LASTLY! I now have Instagram, so to see what useless things I get up to find and follow me at Sabrina_Sparrow!**

**That is all! Enjoy the story!**

"Wake him up." The blonde woman barked.

The man nodded and looked at John, strapped to the chair. He raised his hand and slapped John hard across the side of his face.

John groaned in pain, eyes fluttering open. He was immediately aware of the throbbing agony on the side of his head and the blood running down his face and neck, soaking into his shirt.

"Wakey wakey, rise and shine." The blonde woman said in a sing-song voice.

"Sh….Sherlock…?" John moaned, miserably.

"Sherlock isn't here, love. Well, not _yet_."

John's vision slowly came into focus. He looked down at himself. He was tied to a chair with thick, strong ropes. He tried to struggle but it was useless. He looked up to see that he was sitting in an old abandoned warehouse. Two large men with guns stood either side of him. In front of him was a long elegant table set up with a pretty tablecloth and a child's tea-party set that seemed incredibly familiar to him. At the other end of the table sat the blonde woman, face hidden by the shadows. John recognised her from somewhere, but his head was too fuzzy to figure it out for him.

"Where am I…?" He asked, groggily. "What's going on…?"

"All in good time, Johnny." She said.

"Sherlock…"

"Will be joining us shortly, dear."

The longer John was awake for, the sharper his senses became. He _knew_ the tea party set that was on this table. He'd seen it before. He'd been forced to _play_ with it before. He definitely knew that woman's voice. He squinted in the darkness. "Who are you? Show yourself."

"I thought you'd never ask." The woman said. She stood up slowly and climbed onto the table. She walked forward, into the light, and looked down at John. "Hello, little brother."

John's eyes widened. "Harry…"

"You don't look happy to see me, John." She smirked at him. "What's the matter?"

"You're supposed to be dead."

She crouched in front of him on the table, smiling and nodding. "I know."

"I was at your funeral."

"I know."

"How…?"

"I faked my death, Johnny." She patted his head. "You should be used to that by now, shouldn't you?"

John looked at her, lost for words. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

Harry's smile dropped. "You owe me, John."

John blinked. "Since when?"

"Since you were _born_, you miserable little man!" She snapped.

John shook his head. "You're mad. Look at you, Harry, the drink has driven you _mad_!"

"The drink is my _friend_!" She screamed back. "It was there for me! You never were!"

"You always pushed me away!"

"Because I don't need you! I don't need _anyone_!"

John looked at her, incredulously. "This isn't right. This isn't you."

She shook her head. "That's where you're wrong. This is completely me."

"Why are you doing this?!" John demanded. "Faking your death, all of it! What's the point?! You've done all this for nothing!"

Harry tipped her head back and laughed. "Oh you naïve little thing." She stood up and walked back along the table. "I've been behind it all from the start."

John scowled. "Behind what?"

She turned and grinned at him. "The mastermind, Johnny. The person behind the killings, sending out the hitmen to try and kill Sherlock. It's all been me."

All the colour drained from John's face. "You're lying. You have to be lying."

She climbed off the table and sat back down in the shadows facing John. "On the contrary, honey, I'm telling the cold hard truth."

"Why are you doing this?!" John spat, fighting against his restraints.

"Like I said, you owe me."

"And this is how you're going to fix it then, eh? I'm your _brother_!"

"You're dead to me."

John shook his head. "Stop this. Stop it right now, Harry."

"But, John, my dear." She sipped her tea. "I've only just begun!"

"What do you mean?"

She smiled. "You watched me suffer. You watched me crumble. Now it's your turn. I am going to _destroy_ you."

"How? Torture me? Kill me?" John hissed.

"Oh no, I have something much better planned."

"Oh yeah?" John snapped. "What's that then?"

She grinned at him. "I'm going to bring Sherlock here. And then I'm going to kill him."

**So who guessed right? Which of you KNEW it would be Harry, eh?**

**xoxo**


	22. Get The Party Started

**Hello, Little Sparrows! Another update!**

**I wish I could update more frequently,but university is a BITCH and eats up all my time. Ugh.**

**But here, enjoy this anyway!**

Sherlock lay in his hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. He regretted arguing with John. He regretted upsetting him. He regretted it all. He kept looking at his phone to see if the good Doctor had replied to any of his texts. He'd said he was only going out for some air, where on earth could he have been? It had been _hours_! Sherlock was beginning to worry.

The door opened and Sherlock sat up, expectantly. His face fell when he saw it was not John, but the nurse. "What do you want? You're not having any more of my blood, you've got enough."

"You have a visitor." Nurse Love said.

"John?" Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. "Is it John?"

"She says she's a relation to John." The nurse replied, stepping out and letting the visitor walk in.

"Hello, Sherlock." Said Clara.

Sherlock's face screwed up in dislike. "Oh. It's _you_."

"You were hoping for John?" She asked, walking towards the foot of the bed and waiting there.

"Obviously. Why are you here?"

"I've come to collect you." She smiled, sweetly.

Sherlock frowned. "Collect me?"

"For John. He sends for you."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at her. "John wouldn't send for me. If he wants me, he'll come and get me. He knows where I am."

She sighed. "Darn it. You caught me out. It's Harry that's sending for you."

"John's alcoholic sister? The dead one, you mean?"

"And also my wife, thank you very much."

"And she's also dead. Move on."

"At any rate I'd like you to come with me."

Sherlock sighed and lay down again. "I'm busy."

"You're lying in bed."

"Exactly. I'm _busy_."

She sighed. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist."

"Oh yes?" Sherlock laughed, looking up at the ceiling, counting the tiles. "Is that so?"

Clara pulled out a gun and aimed it at Sherlock. "Yes, love, it is."

Sherlock heard a familiar snap and looked up, unsurprised to see a revolver aimed at him. Real. Decent one too – Smith and Wesson. "You have my immediate attention, Clara. Do go on."

She threw a pair of handcuffs at him. "Put these on and get out of bed. Now."

"And if I refuse?"

"I call Harry —not actually dead, for the record— and tell her to shoot John. And then I'll shoot you."

Sherlock's face paled. "What are you talking about? What have you done to John?"

She smiled. "Harry's got him over for some tea."

"You can't hurt him."

"I think we can."

"I won't _allow_ it!" Sherlock spat.

"Then I suggest you slap on those cuffs and get your bony arse out of bed." She smiled at him. "There's a good lad."

Sherlock swallowed down his anger and fastened the cuffs around his own wrists. "Happy?" he hissed.

"Out of bed. Now." She barked, gun steadily trained on him. "And get on the floor. On your knees."

Sherlock gritted his teeth, shivering as he got out of bed. His pyjamas didn't provide him with much warmth. He knelt on the floor in front of her, cheeks burning with anger and embarrassment.

"There's a good boy." She cooed. "Now just hold still for a moment."

"Why? What are you going to—"

He was silenced, crumpling to the floor as the butt of Clara's gun smacked against his temple. He was unconscious.

"Good lad." She repeated.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sherlock woke with a groan. The memory of moments before he was hit unconscious came instantly flooding back to him and he immediately tried to struggle, but he found that he was tied down, bound to a chair with strong rope.

"Sherlock?" A soft, familiar voice reached him through his panic.

"John?" He called back, eyes dancing in and out of focus.

"Don't panic. I'm here. It's okay."

"I can't see properly."

"You will. Give it a few moments."

Sherlock's eyes slowly focused and his heat sank. John wasn't beside him, like he'd hoped. He was opposite him, at the end of a very long dining table, also strapped to a chair. Blood was caked in his hair, matting it to his forehead that was drenched in sweat. He was trembling, possibly crying, but it was hard to tell at this distance. Blood soaked his shirt that clung to his body. He was panting, obviously in agonising pain. "John…" He whispered.

"I'm okay." John said, quickly, keeping his voice strong. "I'm alright."

"What have they done to you?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"What's going on?"

"I'll tell you later. At home."

There was a bark of laughter, cruel and biting. "How sweet. He actually thinks they're going to escape."

Another person's laughter. "Adorable."

Harry and Clara walked out from the shadows. Harry stood behind John, Clara behind Sherlock. They grinned at each other.

"Shall we get the party started?" Harry leered at Sherlock.

"What's going on? You're supposed to be dead. What is the meaning of this?" Sherlock hissed, struggling against his bonds. "Why have you done this to John? Let him go!"

Harry tilted her head back and laughed. "How precious! He thinks he's got the upper-hand here!"

"I will have you arrested and locked up for life!"

"Big talk coming from the man tied to the chair."

"I will _end_ you!"

"You and what army? Your big brother and all the King's horses? I don't think so, sweetie."

Sherlock ground his teeth together. "Lay another finger on him and I will grind you into horsemeat."

Harry grinned. "Have you every though of playing for the bad guys? You'd make a good old-fashioned villain."

"I'm on the side of the angels? Haven't you heard?"

She laughed. "Oh, you will be soon, love."

"Harry, no!" John barked.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock demanded.

Clara put her hands on Sherlock's shoulders and ran her hands down his chest. "She means, you don't have long left here, pet. What kind of better revenge on your brother, eh? Killing the love of his life, then leaving him down here to rot. Nice."

Sherlock growled and struggled against his bonds. "Why are you doing this?!"

Harry smiled. "What else would a Mastermind do?"

Sherlock's eyes widened in realisation. "You."

She grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "Me."

"You're behind all of this."

"I am."

"All those innocent people killed over petty, childish squabbles."

Harry shrugged. "I was always the more dramatic child."

"You're _mad_!" Sherlock spat.

"No. I'm pissed off. There's a difference." She hissed.

"You won't get away with this."

Harry smiled and pulled out a gun, aiming it right between Sherlock's eyes. "Who are you going to tell? You'll be dead."

"NO! HARRY! NO!" John cried, desperately struggling to free himself.

"Don't count me out just yet." Sherlock smiled. "I may still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

She smiled. "Do you?"

"Now, if I told you, I'd rob you the chance of a nice surprise."

"Shall I shoot you then? You can do your little trick and we'll see just how surprised I am?"

"NO!" John screamed.

"Be my guest." Sherlock smiled.

"NO!" John had started to sob. "NO! SHERLOCK!"

"It's a shame I have to kill you." Harry sighed. "I rather like you. Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes." She said before pulling the trigger.

**I hope you liked it :)**

**I'll try to update A.S.A.P. but thank you all for being such lovely, loyal readers. I love you all!**

**xoxo**


	23. Vatican Cameos

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for being so patient! I felt like Moffat leaving you on a horrible cliff-hanger for so long! But here we are with another update, our story is almost as a close!**

**Enjoy!**

"NO!" Harry screamed as the bullet sunk deep into Clara's chest.

When Sherlock had heard the gun fire, he'd rocked himself to one side, throwing himself over on the wooden chair. The bullet had sailed right over him as he lie on the floor and hit Clara instead. Now she was lying dead on the ground beside Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked rapidly, keeping his breathing even, refusing to let the fact that he'd almost been shot send him into shock. He looked down at himself and his eyes widened. He could have laughed. The flimsy wooden chair he'd been tied to had shattered beneath his weight, the ropes that once bound him falling lose around him. Well, that certainly explained the excruciating pain he was in. Definitely explained the shards of wood, large and small, sticking out of his arms, legs and back.

"Sherlock!" John cried out

Sherlock was suddenly snapped back to his senses. He stood and saw John, still tied to a chair. Harry stood behind him, eyes wide and horrified at what she'd just done, mouth hanging open, gun still in hand.

"CLARA!" She screamed and ran at her.

Sherlock quickly snatched up Clara's gun and ran to John while Harry was too busy fussing over her dead wife.

John was sobbing, hysterically. "Sher-Sherlock…" He gasped, breath ragged.

"Alright." Sherlock said, untying John. "It's alright now."

"I thought you were going to die." He sobbed.

"But I didn't. Everything is going to be alright, I promise. Hurry now, come on." He hooked one of John's arms over his shoulders and helped him to stand.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! WHAT HAVE YOU _DONE_?!" Harry screamed, kneeling by Clara's dead body.

"Hurry, John." Sherlock urged him, helping him limp from the abandoned warehouse.

"Not. So. Fast." Harry snarled from behind them.

Sherlock stopped, purely for the reason he knew Harry still had her gun and wouldn't be afraid to use it. He turned himself and John around. Harry was standing on the table, pointing the gun directly at him.

"Where do you boys think you're going? She hissed, face contorted with rage and hatred.

"Enough!" Sherlock barked. "This is _enough_! You've lost, let us go!"

She laughed, high-pitched and hysterical. "Lost, have I? That's funny. I seem to be _winning_, seeing as I'm the only one with a gun."

Sherlock pulled out the gun he'd stolen from Clara. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

"Oh!" Harry nodded, mock-surprised. "Very clever! Am I supposed to be scared?"

"No, you're supposed to surrender."

She laughed. "Oh dear me, you _are_ adorable – I can see why John loves you."

"This needs to stop. You've killed your own _wife_ for God's sake. Can't you see this has to stop?!"

Harry's eyes narrowed at Sherlock, her jaw clenching. "_You_ killed her, Holmes. Not me. _You_."

"You're the one that shot her."

"That was _your_ fault!"

"You killed her!"

"And now I'm going to kill you!" She screamed, aiming the gun at him.

He aimed the gun at her. "If you shoot, I shoot."

"Please…" John panted, leaning against Sherlock for support. "Harry… stop… I'm sorry…"

"This isn't about you anymore, little brother." She snapped. "This is between me and Sherlock. There is a debt to be paid."

"Take me instead. I'm the one you want."

"No." Sherlock said, firmly. He sat John down on the floor and strode towards Harry, leaving only about three meters between them. "She's right. This is between me and Harry now."

She smiled. "Looks like we got ourselves a good old-fashioned stand-off."

"Good old-fashioned stand-off bore me. Let's come to an agreement. What is it you want?"

"I want you dead."

"Brilliant, let's make a deal."

"No…" John groaned, trying to get back onto his feet.

Harry tilted her head to one side. "What kind of deal?"

"You get to shoot me, but you have to let John go."

"NO!" John cried.

"Yes." Sherlock said, firmly. He locked eyes with Harry. "On the count of five, you shoot… and John gets to make a run for it."

Harry thought about this for a moment. "How do I know you're not going to trick me?"

"If I trick you again you'll probably shoot John to get your own back."

Harry smiled. "Damn right."

"Well, that's sorted then."

She shook her head. "Not quite. Put the gun down. Push it away from you."

Sherlock smiled sweetly. "But of course." He slowly crouched down, Harry's gun following his every move. He set the gun on the ground and pushed it backwards, behind him. Slowly he stood, raising his arms in surrender. "See? No strings attached."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You're about to die. You don't seem very scared."

"You're not very scary."

"I'm about to shoot you, you fool."

"My love for John obviously outweighs my fear of death."

Harry laughed. "How courageous of you. Stupid, but courageous."

Sherlock shrugged. "You'd have done the same for Clara."

Harry's face fell. "Enough. Start counting to five Holmes."

"My pleasure."

"No…" John begged, breathlessly.

Sherlock ignored him and focused on Harry. "One... two… three… four…" There was a long pause that seemed to stretch out forever. _"Vatican Cameos._"

Harry didn't even have time to look confused, because at the mention of their code-word, Sherlock was ducking low and John was jumping high, surprising Harry with his miraculous recovery.

John grabbed the gun from the floor that Sherlock had pushed closer to him when Harry had told him to put it on the floor. Sherlock crouched and rolled backwards, staying in a crouch position. John jumped up, and lunged forward, using Sherlock as a spring-board, running and jumping onto his back and over his head, soaring through the air.

Harry panicked and shot randomly at the air as John flew at her, hitting nothing. John aimed the gun at her and shot twice, one bullet landing in her chest, the other in her head. She collapsed back against the table, John colliding with her. He straddled her dead body and aimed the gun arm her face, snarling. _No one_ hurts his Sherlock.

Sherlock stood up slowly. "John…?" He walked over to him, tentatively. "It's over, John… she's dead… it's over…"

John growled, glaring down at his dead sister on the table-top beneath him. Slowly his breathing evened out. His grip on the gun loosened. He felt Sherlock's hand on his shoulder and he dropped the gun completely, breaking down into huge sobs.

Sherlock pulled him from the table and into his arms, instantly. "It's over." He whispered, burying his face into John's hair. "It's all over now. We're safe."

John clutched Sherlock close. "God, I was so scared, Sherlock. I thought... I thought… Oh, _God…_"

"I know." Sherlock kissed his hair. "But it's over now."

"I love you so much."

"I love you too."

"Sherlock! John!"

Sherlock turned his head to see Lestrade and half of the Scotland Yard run into the warehouse, armed and ready. He huffed out a laugh, tears springing to his eyes as he cradled his sobbing lover to his chest. "You're a little bit late."

**Get ready for a nice fluffy update next...!**

**xoxo**


	24. Always And Forever

**Here we are! The final chapter! This is where it all ends!**

**I want to thank you all for reading my story. You've all been amazing and so supportive. I love you all! Thank you for being so understanding and patient with my updates.**

**Originally the last chapter was going to be a bit of a steamy one, but you know me, I love a bit of fluffy Johnlock goodness. So, here we have a nice cute ending!**

**DISCLAIMER: (SPOILER ALERT!) A lot of the Vicar's dialogue was from a wedding website, because I have NO IDEA how a wedding ceremony goes...! The first poem in the ceremony does not belong to me at all, it's from the interwebz. However the SECOND poem is mine! PLEASE ask me if you want to use it anywhere else! Thank you!**

**Thank you so much for reading my story and sticking through with me to the very end! I love you!**

John sighed as he fixed Sherlock's tie. "Stop panicking. You'll be fine."

Sherlock swallowed hard. "This is the maddest thing I've ever done."

"You're shaking, just calm down. Everything will be fine."

Sherlock groaned. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Not all over your nice suit." John tiptoed up to kiss him. "You look gorgeous."

Sherlock smiled, nervously. "Thank you."

"Let's do this."

The big double door they were standing behind opened up and the bridal song began to play. The people sitting either side of the aisle turned to smile at the two grooms. Sherlock tensed up and grabbed John's hand.

"Relax. You look amazing." John whispered.

"Please don't let me trip over."

"Deal.

They started the slow walk up the aisle, and Sherlock didn't trip once. They reach the end of the aisle and the vicar smiled at them.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. We are here to celebrate their union and to honour their commitment to each other. Today both partners will proclaim their love for one another and we are here to celebrate with them. If any person present knows of any lawful reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Sherlock's head dropped and he squeezed his eyes shut.

John looked around to make sure no one was going to interrupt them, but all he could see were smiling faces. He looked back at Sherlock and laughed. He stretched up and kissed his cheek. "Relax, no one's going to stop us."

Sherlock opened his eyes and let out a relieved sigh. "Thank God."

The vicar continued. "I would like to now read from a poem of the groom's choice." He cleared his throat:

"_On the wings of an eagle,_

_My love for you flies._

_Soaring higher and higher,_

_And touching the skies._

_I reached up above,_

_And pulled a star from the sky._

_To place it within,_

_Your precious mind's eye._

_To dwell there forever,_

_As my love for you._

_On the wings of our love,_

_Enduring and true._

_I honour you, my darling,_

_With all that I am._

_Please, darling, please,_

_Will you be my man?_

_There are so many things,_

_My heart wants to say._

_I love you, sweetheart,_

_There is no other way.__"_

John smiled shyly at Sherlock. "It reminded me of us. Of _you_."

Sherlock smiled. "I have something for you too." He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "I wrote you a poem." He paused before speaking:

"_Your eyes are blue,_

_Your skin is soft,_

_Your lips, I pursue_

_Keep my heart aloft._

_You're touch like fire,_

_Your kisses like heat,_

_Fill me with desire,_

_When our bodies meet._

_Your mouth so sweet,_

_Your hands so strong,_

_Yet gentle and neat,_

_In your arms, I belong._

_I've never known,_

_A love so strong,_

_Until I met you,_

_My one, my only, my John."_

John's eyes watered. "I love you."

Sherlock smiled. "I love you too."

The vicar smiled happily. "Marriage joins two people in the circle of its love. It is a commitment to life, the best that two people can find and bring out in each other. It offers opportunities for learning and growth that no other opportunity can equal. It is both a physical and emotional joining that is promised for a lifetime. Happiness is fuller, memories are fresher and commitment is deeper. Marriage understands and forgives the mistakes that life is unable to avoid. When two people pledge their love and care for each other within a marriage they create a spirit which binds them closer than any spoken or written words. Marriage is a promise written in the hearts of two people who love each other and it takes a lifetime to fulfil. Will everyone now please stand for a hymn."

The entire room stood up, picking up their hymn sheets. Everyone sang '_Amazing Grace_'.

"Today you will exchange vows of marriage which will unite you as life partners." The vicar announced. "These vows are a promise of a lifelong commitment. Before you are both joined together in marriage it is my duty to remind you of the solemn and binding character of the vows you are about to make. I am now going to ask you each in turn to declare that you know of no legal reason why you may not be joined together in marriage. John, if you would begin."

John smiled up at Sherlock. "I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I may not be joined in marriage to Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock grinned. "And I solemnly swear I am up to no good." He rolled his eyes. "And I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I may not be joined in marriage to John Watson."

The vicar nodded happily. "And now the vows. I believe you have written your own? John?"

John looked nervous for the first time that day. He took out a piece of paper from his pocket and began to read from it. "Sherlock, if someone had told me that when I'd met you, I'd one day be marrying you, I'd have laughed at them. I had no idea at the time that I was destined to fall hopelessly, madly in love with you. And I did. Like a sucker I fell head over heels in love with you. It's been a crazy, bumpy, emotional road, but I wouldn't change a thing. I love you, and I'll love your for as long as I live."

Sherlock felt a lump catch in his throat. "Right… well, I don't quite know how to follow that." He pulled out the same piece of paper from before and turned it over. "John… John, before you, there was nothing. My life was like a blank canvas in an empty room. I was alone, and vulnerable and miserable. But you brought colour into my life. You filled the emptiness and you chased away all the monsters. You were the first person to ever be brave enough to love me and I don't know how to ever thank you for that. But I promise you this: I will never stop loving you. I will always belong to you. You will always be my John."

John's lower lip wobbled. He let out a tiny sob and pulled Sherlock to him. He hid his face in Sherlock's chest while he sobbed.

"I love you." Sherlock kissed John's hair.

John looked up with watery eyes. "I love you too."

"Do you, Sherlock, take John to be your lawful wedded husband, to be loving, faithful and loyal to him for the rest of your life together?" The vicar asked.

Sherlock nodded. "I do."

"And do you, John, take Sherlock to be your lawful wedded husband, to be loving, faithful and loyal to him for the rest of your life together?"

"I do."

The vicar looked to the best man, Lestrade. "May we have the rings, please?"

Lestrade stepped forward, smiling, and gave each John and Sherlock a matching gold ring.

Sherlock slipped the ring on John's finger and kissed the back of his hand. "I give you this ring as a symbol of my love. All that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you."

John grinned and slipped Sherlock's ring onto his finger. "I promise to love you, to be faithful and loyal, in good times and bad. May this ring remind you always of the words we have spoken today."

The vicar smiled. "It is my pleasure to announce that you are now marred. You may now kiss."

"My favourite part." John grinned. He tip-toed up and pulled Sherlock into a tender kiss as everyone stood up and applauded.

Sherlock smiled down at John. "I'll love you, always."

John smiled back. "Always."

**So, I hope you liked it! Thank you again so much for reading my story and for supporting me!**

**PLEASE READ: I'm going to be starting a new Johnlock story on here soon, but I have NO IDEA what it's going to be, so this is down to YOU now! I need some ideas! Go nuts! Potter!lock, teen!lock, parent!lock - ANYTHING! I need ideas people! Give me your weirdest and most wonderful story suggestions!**

**Thank you again! I LOVE YOU!**

**xoxo**


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